


Friends of My Father

by Nina (HowNovel)



Series: Promises to Keep [2]
Category: Starman (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-11-06
Updated: 1998-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/Nina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1999 Fan Quality Award Nominee</p><p>The Starfamily gets reacquainted, with some twists…  Sequel to “A Star By Any Other Name,” though each story can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends of My Father

FRIENDS OF MY FATHER  
(A sequel to "A STAR BY ANY OTHER NAME") by Nina

"Scott--" Jenny opened the door about an inch.

"Mom!" he exclaimed, grabbing a long T-shirt to cover himself. He'd been sitting on his bed in his underwear trying to use the sphere. "I'm not dressed."

"Sorry," she apologized, shutting the door briefly. She'd knocked, but he apparently hadn't heard her. "Okay now?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "What?"

She ignored his tone. "I just want to say good night. I'm going to bed now."

"Okay," Scott responded, still not really listening.

"Um--" Jenny began tentatively. "Next time you have friends over, I'd appreciate if you guys would leave the living room a little neater. It's not fun sleeping on a couch full of crumbs and hot rod magazines."

"All right, all right," he muttered impatiently.

Jenny started to snap back at him, then thought better of it. She supposed she should be thankful that for once he actually had friends. Instead, she reached over to brush hair out of his eyes and said gently, "It's late and tomorrow's a school day. Try to get some rest."

"I will, Mom," he assured her. "Just a few minutes more."

"Okay," she agreed quietly.

"Good night," he added in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone. Being alone with either parent so much was intense and wearing for both of them at times, but he'd learned it didn't pay to stay annoyed for very long because they were stuck with each other.

Jenny squeezed his shoulder silently and left the room.

Scott turned his attention back to what was now a nightly ritual-- trying to find his father. It had been almost a month since he and Jenny narrowly had escaped the FSA while trying to free Paul from a safehouse on the Illinois border. They knew he was no longer there, but had no idea if he'd been moved, killed, or had managed to get out. Scott called Liz Baynes often, hoping for news, but so far there was none. His sphere could offer no solace either. He thought back to his brief stay in Leland Hall when he'd called his father from galaxies away without even realizing it. Why couldn't he do that now? He put the sphere in a drawer, flicked off his lamp and flopped back on his bed in frustration.

o o O o o

Jenny stood in the living room methodically rearranging the pull-out couch so she could go to bed. All the little details weren't absolutely necessary, but the activity helped her focus. Scott was basically a good kid, sensitive and wise beyond his years. In the weeks they'd been together, she'd learned to recognize the source of most of his occasional moodiness and back-talk-- missing his father and dreading what the future held. It was the same longing and uncertainty that kept her awake at night and left her with a perpetual headache, though she tried to hide the worst of it from Scott. She'd taken to sleeping with one of Paul's shirts so that she could feel the fabric against her skin and smell what was left of his scent. She was tempted to drink and smoke her brains out the way she had after Scott Sr. died, but nearly two decades and several lifetimes later, she knew it wouldn't help. Besides, she had young Scott back now. He was the Starman's love, hope and trust in her, a second chance after almost fourteen years. She was determined not to blow it this time.

Their journey had ended for now in central Pennsylvania, in a non-descript, working-class hamlet east of Williamsport. In the long succession of places she'd passed through over the years, she'd often counted on the geographic isolation and unjaded, protective kindness of small, close-knit communities. Of course, these towns also had their share of gossipy neighbors suspicious of outsiders, but thankfully, so far it had been more of the former. Scott was in school as Shane Colby. With that name, he was a bit more confident about socializing with his classmates, and to his and Jenny's delight, already had made three good friends: Josh Schulze, Andy Harrell and Nate Gendron, whose father was Scott's English teacher. Jenny had a job at a sportswear outlet where people knew her as Margaret. She'd also begun wearing her wedding ring again. Her story when she was pressed was that "David" was completing a tour of military duty overseas. It explained her son's "delayed" transcripts and medical records, discouraged romantic overtures and most importantly, allowed her and Scott to miss without pretense the man they loved. If it weren't for the huge hole left in their lives by Paul's absence, they'd actually be happy.

Done rearranging, she kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed but didn't sleep.

o o O o o

"Is there any banana bread left?" Scott asked, inspecting the contents of the refrigerator.

"No, we finished the last of it yesterday," Jenny replied, a mug of coffee in her hand as she searched for something. "Have you seen my keys?"

"On the table with the mail, Mom," he told her. He indicated the remains of the previous night's dinner. "Well, I guess I could eat this."

"Cold pizza for breakfast?" Jenny inquired, unimpressed.

"Dad let me," Scott said.

"Oh, really--" she commented. .

"For the first couple months anyway, until somebody told him it just wasn't done," Scott added with a laugh. "You know what Dad said, right?"

"It must have been 'Why not?'" Jenny guessed, affecting Paul's innocent tone.

"You got it," Scott said, pouring cereal into a bowl.

"I have to work late tonight, so call me when you get home," she told him.

"Mom, I'm not eleven," he reminded her patiently.

"I know," Jenny said.

"Nate and I might stay after and shoot hoops for a while."

"That's fine," she said, deciding not much could happen to him in the school gym with a teacher's kid. Nate was a polite boy and his father was respected among the parents and students alike for being attentive and involved. She gave him a small smile. "Just make me feel better, okay, Scotty?"

"Okay, Mom," he said.

"There's plenty of food in the freezer that you can heat up for dinner," she went on. "I should be back around eight-thirty." Though she preferred to be home for him, one of the women at the store was on maternity leave, they were short-handed and as the newest employee, she usually drew the evening shift.

"Don't worry, I'll manage," he said as the doorbell rang. "There's Josh."

Jenny went to let him in. Scott heard her say, "Good morning, Josh," and his friend's reply, "Hi, Mrs. Colby." Momentarily, Josh was in the doorway. "Shane, you ready?"

"Yeah, in a second," Scott said, quickly finishing the last spoonfuls of cereal and putting the bowl in the sink. He grabbed his backpack. "Bye, Mom."

"See you later," Jenny replied. "Put some gloves on. It's cold out."

Scott sighed heavily, chagrined, but said nothing as he put on his jacket and gloves. Once the boys were out of earshot, Josh said, "It's okay. My parents are a drag too."

Scott shrugged.

o o O o o

"Smile, Colby!"

Scott was putting something in his locker when he looked up to see Andy coming down the hall with a camera. Quickly he turned away, protesting, "No!"

"Oh, come on," Andy cajoled, leaning directly into Scott's face and already snapping away. "Don't be shy."

"Andy, quit it, man," Scott said. Then more sharply, "I said no."

"Okay," Andy retreated. "What's your problem, Shane?"

"Give me the film," Scott told him.

"I can't. The roll's only half finished."

"All right," Scott conceded. "But promise me you'll give me any prints or negatives that I'm in as soon as you develop it. No pictures in the yearbook or anywhere else."

"Why?"

"Just because," Scott replied. "It's really important, Andy. You've got to promise."

"All right, I promise," Andy said.

"Good." Scott sighed nervously. He hoped he could trust his new friend, because if any of those pictures got out, he and his parents were dead meat.

o o O o o

The Starman heard the sound of keys turning in three separate locks and smiled to himself. Those locks weren't keeping him in; only keeping the FSA agents out. Fox knew the Starman could open doors without his sphere. That's why one of them was almost always with him and why they kept him well shackled when he had to be left alone.

The door swung open and Casey, Fox's newest deputy, entered. He put down the meal tray with a clatter and came over silently to take off the restraints that kept the alien from straying more than a few feet from his cot.

"Thank you," the Starman said politely, though he knew there would be no response. He walked to the table and sat down for the usual cold, lumpy oatmeal and tepid black coffee. Bad food was bad food all over the universe, but he ate it. He didn't expect Stella Forrester's pancakes. Casey just stared at him stonily.

"Where's Wylie?" the Starman inquired. He hadn't seen the other agent in a while.

"I'm here right now," Casey replied vaguely. There was bravado in his voice as if he were hurt by the mere question. In contrast to Wylie, who was loyal and well-meaning, but nowhere near as harsh, Casey was intent upon following orders and generally making the alien's life miserable, but the Starman noticed that Fox didn't seem to respect Casey at all. It was all rather puzzling. The young agent looked only a few years older than Scott.

The Starman chewed a mouthful of oatmeal thoughtfully. Long ago, Jenny-hayden had taught him about table manners. It was impolite to talk with his mouth full. He swallowed and asked, "How old are you, Casey? Nineteen?" It seemed a reasonable guess.

"Twenty three," the young agent corrected automatically before he caught himself and became expressionless again.

"I see," the Starman said. "My son is almost seventeen. His name is Scott. Do people call you Jim, Jamie or James?"

Casey gulped hard. "How do you know my name?"

"It's on your badge," the Starman said calmly, pointing at the floor where Casey had dropped it on the way in.

Casey snatched it up quickly. It had fallen half open, but there was no way anyone could have read it from that distance. He didn't like this. The alien was staring at him. He wasn't supposed to talk to it, didn't want to talk to it, but something compelled an answer. "James."

The Starman detected a disquiet that he didn't think was entirely because of him. "You're afraid," he observed.

No kidding, Casey thought. This-- thing was weird.

"There's something hidden about you," the Starman said. "Something deep inside."

Casey had had enough. "Get up! You have ten minutes to wash, then Mr. Fox wants to see you."

"I mean you no harm, James-casey," The Starman was trying to reassure the young agent, but his language, which sounded to Casey as if it came out of the Stone Age, only made things worse.

"Quiet!" Casey barked, raising his arm in what he hoped was a menacing gesture.

The Starman drew back and said nothing more as he was led out of the room and allowed to wash. Casey stood over him the entire time. Somehow they'd decided he was dangerous in men's rooms since he'd passed out in one in the safehouse in Illinois. Yet, they hadn't even realized he was using his sphere then. They'd only taken it after the fire.

He finished and Casey took him downstairs where Fox was waiting.

"Good morning, Forrester," Fox said.

"Good morning," the Starman returned.

"Did you sleep well?" Fox inquired cordially.

The Starman knew Fox really couldn't care less. "I suppose."

"Are you ready to talk today?"

"Of course," the Starman said. "About anything you like." Whether it was anything Fox would want to hear was an entirely different matter.

"Casey," Fox addressed the deputy.

"Yes, sir," Casey snapped to attention.

"Get over here and let him out of these things so he can sit down. What did you do, use every restraint in the book?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Casey said quickly, pleased to be doing something right for once.

"Well, it's overkill," Fox said bluntly, his voice rising in crescendo "Unnecessary unless he's unattended, which he shouldn't be unless it's unavoidable and it's not unavoidable unless I say so."

"Yes, sir," Casey said meekly, rushing to comply. He didn't know who scared him more, the alien or Fox.

According to personnel files, Casey was one of the FSA's brightest new agents, but Fox couldn't see how. He was conscientious enough but was trying too hard and his judgment left much to be desired. He struck Fox as a kid playing war games. Fox hoped Casey would get it together soon or he'd have to have him transferred, which he was loath to do given how shaky his own reputation already was. In the meantime, he reserved anything important for himself and Wylie. Wylie might be a little dim and tend to slack off occasionally, but he was predictable, relatively harmless and after so many years together, basically knew what he was doing.

"Now," Fox said, turning his attention back to his prisoner. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Where's the boy?"

"I don't know," the Starman replied. It was the same answer he'd given them since day one. If he'd ever known, he certainly didn't now. He hoped Scott and Jenny were still together, but he kept that thought to himself. No matter how long the agents did this, he was not going to lead them to his family.

o o O o o

"Margaret, do you know what happened to Mrs. Novak's special order?" Jenny's co-worker Dori asked, coming out of the storage room. "She called about it earlier, but I couldn't find the slip."

"I think the supplier was out of her size," Jenny said, refolding a pile of shirts. "Ask Pat when she comes in whether she back-ordered though." Then, "Did my son call yet?"

"No. It's only two-thirty. I'll let you know."

"Thanks." Jenny smiled apologetically. "He's old enough to take care of himself, but I'd still rather be there, you know?"

"Sure," Dori agreed. "You can't be too careful these days with all those nuts out there. Your son's a nice boy though. Smart too, my niece says. They've got a class together. How old is he, fifteen?"

"Sixteen and a half. We've moved around a lot so his education's been disrupted."

"Yeah, some of those military base schools aren't the greatest. My brother-in-law was in the service, so I know. What branch is your husband?"

"Air Force," Jenny answered, picking the one closest to the truth. "He's a pilot."

"God bless him; that's no easy job," Dori said. "Will he get leave for the holidays?"

"I hope so," Jenny said. "We miss him." Then to change the subject, "How's Kay?"

"Had enough of this last I heard," Dori said. "She's due any day. I don't envy her right now."

"I know," Jenny said, recalling the last days of her own difficult pregnancy.

"Twice was enough for me," Dori went on. "But for all they put you through, children are truly a gift."

"They are," Jenny agreed. "That reminds me-- I meant to buy a present--"

o o O o o

"Mom, are you almost finished?" Scott asked, looking around self-consciously as they stood in the children's department.

"Just about," Jenny said, sighing at the selection of bland pastels. She finally settled on a cute, colorful sweatshirt that was relatively inexpensive. "I guess I should get something for the older child too."

"Boy or girl?" Scott asked.

"A little girl. She's three or four, I think," Jenny told him, moving on to the toys. She glanced at the price for a doll and quickly put it down. Fifty-nine ninety-five for a piece of plastic! "Oh, look, you had one of these, remember?" she asked, indicating what looked to Scott like a jack-in-the box.

"Not really," he said.

"Maybe a book," Jenny mused.

"Oh, no, Mom," Scott advised quickly.

"You don't think so?"

"Books are too educational," he explained. "Parents give those."

Jenny looked down and grimaced. "Oh, alphabet books. You had one too, but I finally had to get rid of it because you got hysterical and ripped out a page."

"Why?" Scott inquired curiously.

Jenny leaned close to him and said in a low voice, "F is for Fox."

"Oh," her son responded in understanding.

Going on to a more pleasant topic, she added. "You were very articulate for your age. Before you were even out of diapers, you could hold these incredible conversations. You must have gotten that from your dad."

"Which one?" Scott asked.

"Paul," Jenny replied, whispering again. "Fifty-four human languages were on the gold disk that went up with Voyager II. From Scott, you got sheer physical energy. Grandpa Hayden hoped you'd be a star running back like him."

"Well, I did run track for a while," Scott said.

"You did?" Jenny smiled. "You never told me that."

"Do I still have grandparents somewhere?" Scott asked.

"Not on my side," she told him. "They're both gone now. The other ones are still in Wisconsin, I guess. I don't really know. It's been years."

She was quiet for a minute before continuing almost inaudibly, "All of them went through a lot because of--everything-- and they didn't always understand, but they adored you. They paid dearly for my choices and so did you."

Scott saw the emotion in his mother's face and instantly felt guilty. He touched her arm. "Sorry, Mom--"

"It's okay. You have a right to know." She rubbed her eyes with a quick gesture.

"You know what, Mom?" Scott asked quietly.

"What, baby?"

"F is for Forrester too."

Jenny looked at her son, who was now taller than she, and impulsively kissed him. "Yes," she said. "It is."

o o O o o

The Starman lay very still on the gurney, connected to all sorts of machines monitoring his brain waves and vital functions. Casey leaned against the wall by the Starman's feet. He'd been very silent, rebuffing periodic attempts to engage him, so the Starman had given up for now.

These tests didn't seem bad compared to the ones at Peagrum, where he'd quickly gotten claustrophobic in that plastic box. If it weren't for the incessant beeping of all the machines now, he might be able to sleep.

Suddenly, the pungent, antiseptic odor of cleaning fluid hit the Starman's nostrils through the vent. He coughed, inadvertently disconnecting one of the leads. A shrill alarm sounded from the monitor in question.

Casey came to the side of the gurney and pressed a button. When that didn't work, he banged the offending machine, looking nervous and lost.

"There," the Starman directed him quietly, indicating the spot where the lead had fallen against the white sheet. When Casey stared uncomprehendingly, the Starman lightly grasped the young agent's wrist and guided his hand. Casey picked up the lead, but stopped, his shaking fingers hovering a fraction of an inch above the Starman's bare chest.

"You can touch me," the Starman told him. "It's all right." Again, he guided Casey as best he could. He saw the young man shudder, then visibly sigh in relief as the alarms finally stopped.

"Why do you work for the FSA, Casey?" the Starman asked, seizing the opportunity before the agent had a chance to turn away.

"Mr. Fox says to make the world safe for humanity," Casey replied mechanically.

"What do you think?" the Starman asked.

Casey said nothing.

"The initials stand for Federal Security Agency," the Starman said. "Am I really a security risk? Surely there must be far greater threats."

"You're a leftist who burned flags, stole draft records and harbored criminals," Casey said.

"No, that was the guy who had this body before me," the Starman corrected. "Where I come from, I was a map maker and a pilot, but down here I'm mostly a dad. It's not an easy or glamorous job, but it's very important because it's from parents and those around them in their early years that children develop skills and the capacity to love or hate." He looked deeply into the young agent's eyes.

Casey blinked and stared into the distance.

o o O o o

"Hey," Nate greeted his friends, sliding into a bench at the cafeteria table.

"Hi," the boys mumbled.

"Shane, you're studying during lunch?" Nate teased. "Wow."

"Finishing something for your dad's class fifth period," Scott admitted, scribbling hurriedly. "Don't tell."

"I'm not a snitch," Nate assured him quickly, with derision in his voice.

"He's a good teacher," Scott told him.

Nate shrugged. "I guess. I'm not allowed to have him."

"Well, isn't that a good thing?" Andy exclaimed with a laugh. "Man, if I had to sit in class with my father-- we'd both die. Right, Josh?"

"I don't want to think about it," Josh replied flatly.

Scott said nothing. He liked Nate's dad. Mr. Gendron was a demanding teacher, yet very low-key and approachable. In many ways, he reminded Scott of his own father. Scott was missing Paul a lot lately and it was the main reason he'd put off doing the assignment as long as possible. Mr. Gendron had asked the students for essays on a turning point in their lives. Scott really wanted to write about the moment in the park almost three years before when he'd first realized he had a father or that instant outside the safehouse just over a month ago when he understood that Paul was gone. But of course he couldn't do that. Instead, his paper with Shane's name on the top line was some boring story about a father-son camping trip-- superficially drawn from his real memories of Paul, but essentially as much a fiction as Shane and David Colby.

"Shane--" Nate interrupted his thoughts. "There's Zoe. Are you going to ask her to the dance?"

Scott shook his head. "I can't dance."

"Ask her out anyway," Nate said. "To the movies or something."

"Come on, Shane," Andy urged. "You like her, don't you?"

"Isn't she going out with Derek?" Scott asked.

"I think she just dumped him." Josh informed them.

"Oh, that's nice," Scott grimaced sarcastically. "So we know she knows how. She can just turn around and do it to me."

"She might not," Nate pointed out.

Scott sighed. "I don't know, guys."

o o O o o

"Did you see that horror movie on the Sci Fi Channel last night?" Josh asked as he and Scott sat in the kitchen working their way through a plate of nachos

"No," Scott said. "We don't have a TV."

"You don't?" Josh exclaimed. "Why not?"

"My dad thinks it's a distraction," Scott told him. "And we move around a lot--it's kind of heavy." Lame as it might sound, it was more or less true.

"What is he, one of those right-wing censorship types?" Josh asked.

"No," Scott said. "Just kind of back to basics."

It wasn't the first time Josh had noticed how little stuff there was in the Colbys' apartment or how Shane hadn't heard of a lot of music, movies and things. Not that his own family was rich either, but most people at least had a TV. Shane's father was supposed to be a big shot officer who Josh assumed was on some secret mission. Weren't people always complaining on the news about the over-inflated defense budget? The Colbys couldn't be that poor, but he knew it wasn't polite to ask. "So what do you do instead?"

"Read a lot, listen to the radio, travel with my dad-- and mom," Scott said

"That must be fun going to different places," Josh said.

"Sometimes," Scott said. Actually, he wished he had a TV, VCR, CD player and a computer like everybody else. "Um, my mom will be home soon and she's been getting on me about neatness. Let's go in my room."

"Sure," Josh said.

As the boys walked by, Josh noticed a futuristic-looking painting hanging in one corner of the living room. "Awesome picture."

"What?" Scott asked. "Oh--thanks."

"Who's KI?"

Scott practically choked at the question. "Um, a friend of my father's."

o o O o o

"Okay, people, settle down," Mr. Gendron said. "Boy, you're all wired today. What did everybody have for lunch?"

"Cap'n Crunch," Bruce, the class clown, informed him.

Mr. Gendron laughed. "That would do it. Where's Sara, still sick?"

"Yeah," one of the girls responded.

"That's too bad," Mr. Gendron said sympathetically. "She's missing all the fun."

A collective groan emanated from the class.

"What, you don't enjoy the sacred canon of English literature?" the teacher ribbed them. "I know; grammar's boring, but you'll like this next thing .You're going to break into groups of four or five, and pick a scene or set of scenes from a play. I'll give you a list of choices. Then you'll research the historical background and the playwright, write an analysis, and then put on the scene at the end of three weeks. What do you think?"

"Why do you always make us work so hard, Mr. G.?" Bruce asked.

"Because that's what teachers do," Mr. Gendron told him.

"I can't act," Bruce whined.

"You, Brucie?" Mr. Gendron teased. "I'd doubt that. Seriously folks, it's not about acting or getting nervous. It's about learning and having fun. Just try it, okay?"

"Do we get to pick our own groups?" a girl asked.

."Actually, to make them as fair as possible for everyone, let's try counting off this time," Mr. Gendron suggested. "Hilary-- one--"

Scott hated group projects. In any other school, he would have welcomed counting off at random, as he was always the odd man out, but not here. He had friends now, people with whom it was safe to be himself-- or as close to it as he could get. Starting over with a new group of kids, even for a class project, was intimidating.

The count reached him. As he said, "three," he looked around nervously to see who his partners were. A girl named Melissa. She seemed okay. Andy-- good, at least he'd have one of his pals. He couldn't believe the next voice he heard. Zoe Dettmer? He turned in her direction. Andy was grinning broadly and flashing him thumbs up signs. There was a God.

Mr. Gendron caught his eye and smiled at him. Scott felt himself starting to blush, but it was Nate's dad and he was cool. At that moment, life was the best.

o o O o o

"Careful where you put that down," Jenny warned. "Grape juice stains."

Scott sighed. How did she have time to think of these things? "Mom, who cares? It's not our table anyway." He'd found it discarded on a sidewalk the week after they'd moved in. Whenever they moved out, that's where it would go again.

"It is now," she said. "Do you want more salad?"

Scott shook his head. "I'm late. Mr. Gendron got them to open the auditorium today so we could practice our scenes. My group's meeting at two."

"Do you want a ride?" Jenny offered.

"Nah, I'll take the bus," he said.

"All right," she said. "Call if you need one later though. I'm going out to drop off something for Kay, but otherwise I'll be here. How long are you going to be?"

"Until five or so, I guess," he said. "I need money."

"I gave you some the other day for emergency," Jenny said. 'What happened to it?"

"I spent it at the arcade," Scott said shamelessly.

"That's an emergency?" Jenny asked.

"Well, the guys were creaming me," he defended himself weakly.

Funny how his definition of an emergency had changed lately. She and Scott Sr. had pumped their share of quarters into jukeboxes and pinball machines when they were dating, but now that was laundry money. "Scott, an emergency is if you're sick, hurt, stranded somewhere, the place is on fire or the FSA's anywhere in the vicinity. Not vaporizing little green men."

"Saving the galaxy, Mom," he corrected. "And they're not little, green men."

"Whatever. Hand me my bag."

When he did so, she inspected the contents of her wallet and withdrew a ten dollar bill. "Here. That's all you get for now. I don't get paid until next week. From now on, I'm giving you a phone card."

Scott took the money without saying thank you. "You know, Mom, we can always go to Atlantic City."

"Yeah, right," Jenny said.

"Dad and I were in Reno once. He won big." He neglected to tell her that they'd only gone there because Dusty had stolen the car and that she'd lost most of Paul's take at the blackjack tables, leaving them deep in hock on Paul Forrester's line of credit.

"Well, I can't make all the bells ring like your father," Jenny muttered, remembering her own inadvertent detour to Las Vegas with the Starman just after Scott was conceived.

"I can," Scott pointed out brightly.

Jenny just looked at him. "Goodbye, Scott."

o o O o o

"Line--" Andy said.

"You've asked for the same line six times," Scott informed him. "If you'd stop laughing, maybe you'd remember."

"Like you're any better at it?" Andy retorted, pretending to put Scott in a head lock.

"Hey, hey-- peace," Mr. Gendron called quickly as he saw Andy almost back off the stage accidentally. "Take five, guys."

"I wasn't really hurting him," Andy told him.

"I know, but you were about to drop into the orchestra pit and I don't want any explaining to do," the teacher advised. He put two large grocery bags on one of the seats. "Have a cookie. Refreshments, folks!" he called to the groups on the other side of the auditorium.

"Wow, thanks, Mr. Gendron," somebody said as the teenagers clustered around.

"You're welcome," he replied. "It's the least I can do after making you come to school on Saturday."

Scott sank down in the front row with a cup of popcorn when Zoe caught his eye. "Want a soda, Shane?" she asked.

"Um, yeah, that would be nice," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. As she handed him the can, he felt a rush of connection. "Thanks."

"Sure," she said, taking the seat beside him.

"You were--um-- good up there," he said.

"I guess," she said. "The only thing I've ever been before is a candy cane in the second grade. How about you? Any juicy roles?"

"Oh, nothing much," he said. Only every day, he added silently. He picked up a kernel of popcorn and smiled reflectively.

"What are you laughing at?" Zoe asked.

"I was just thinking of my dad," Scott said. "He called popcorn 'noisy food,'"

"You mean when you were little?"

"Yeah," Scott said "We liked the sound of it popping and watching the foil on the Jiffy-Pop thing blow up. It was cool. So, um, you like potato chips, huh?"

o o O o o

Jenny's heart dropped back out of her throat when the door opened.

"Hi," Scott said

She didn't know whether to hug him or strangle him. "Where have you been, Scott?"

"What?" he asked innocently

"You told me you'd be home two hours ago."

"Oh," he groaned. "Sorry. We went to Melissa's afterward and I lost track of time."

"Next time call me before you go, all right?"

"I forgot, Mom."

"How could you forget? We had a conversation about it just before you left,"

"Because nobody else has to call their parents," he said matter-of-factly. He wasn't being snide; it just wasn't the routine. He was the only one doing it and after three years on the run, it seemed counterintuitive--not to mention uncool-- to draw attention to himself.

"Scotty, I didn't know if you got kidnapped or run over by a bus--" She was trying not to be accusing, but if the FSA could grab Paul off the street, they could very well do it to her or Scott. "Remember how worried we were when your dad didn't come home?"

He'd been trying to forget. They hadn't even had twenty-four hours with Jenny when it happened. Suddenly, his dad, his whole world for the past three years, was gone and he was alone with a near stranger who said she was Mom. "Yeah--" he said almost inaudibly.

"I don't mind if you hang out. Just let me know where you are. Please?"

"Yeah--" he repeated.

She couldn't tell if his sudden distance was from boredom, anger or contrition. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, going past her into the bathroom.

As he finished and reached out to turn off the light, he remembered something else about popcorn. He and his dad had made it together the night before the FSA lured them to Lindero with hopes of Jenny. The memory of Angela's voice still made him seethe with rage at its manipulative falseness. She had taken his mother away from him, forever made him wary of another sick game. Now he studied his own face in the mirror, comparing it to the worn photograph in his wallet and then to the woman sitting outside. His dad had once told him, "You look like them-- Scott and Jenny. I gave you soul, but they gave you life. You'd be nothing without them." But try as he might, Scott couldn't see it yet.

o o O o o

"Five five four two," the voice on the other end of the line said with clipped efficiency. FSA staff were trained to answer the phone by extension numbers only. They never knew whether it was for security or mystique.

"Hi, Edna, it's me," Fox said. "Any messages?"

"Good morning, Mr. Fox," Edna greeted him. "You have seven."

"Fine, go ahead."

"Six of them are from General Wade's office, sir."

Fox grimaced. "What now?"

"Message number one: 'Where's your spring quarter report?'" Edna read.

"I submitted it in the spring," Fox enunciated, sighing. "Tell them to look again."

"I did, sir, but then you got message number two. Same thing. Should I fax a duplicate over to headquarters?"

"Yes, pronto. I hope you have the original messenger receipt."

"I pulled it out of the file to photocopy as soon as the call came in, sir," she assured him.

"You're way ahead of me, Edna," Fox told her. "Go on."

She understood that as praise, which with him was always oblique. "Thank you, sir. Message number three: 'Why did you requisition five hundred boxes of paper clips?'"

"I didn't," Fox replied. "Some peon up there obviously punched the wrong key on the wrong line."

"I thought as much, sir," Edna said with understated professionalism. "Message number four: In reference to your inquiry yesterday afternoon, further long distance travel for Mr. Wylie is not authorized until they receive the spring report."

"Well, you're taking care of that," Fox dismissed it..

"Message number five: You were supposed to complete Form 86-974 three weeks ago so they could update Mr. Casey's clearance."

Suppose I don't want him to have clearance? Fox thought sardonically. Aloud he said, "I don't even know what an 86-974 looks like, Edna. Do you?"

"Yes Mr. Fox. It's four pages and comes in triplicate-- white, pink and canary yellow. I'll have it prepared for your signature when you return."

"Thank you, Edna."

"Are you ready for message number six, sir?" she inquired.

"Should I be?" he asked rhetorically.

"Message number six: 'Who the hell is trying to be reimbursed for three bags of snack size peanut butter cups?'"

"Peanut butter cups?" Fox repeated. He didn't think his assistants were that stupid, but Edna deservedly prided herself on accurate messages.

"The General himself called that time. It's a direct quotation," she advised.

"I'll look into it," Fox sighed. "Did Ted Jarvis call back with anything on the Baynes woman?"

"That's message number seven, sir. She's in Bolivia at the moment."

"What's going on in Bolivia?" Fox asked.

"Apparently she's on assignment. That's all he knows," Edna relayed.

"Do you think she took Forrester's kid with her?" Fox mused.

"I don't know, sir," she replied non-committally. It wasn't her job to know, but she'd been with the FSA for thirty years and with 617-W since year three, before even Mr. Wylie. She knew the agents counted on her for moral support even if she couldn't express her true opinions.

"Put a call into the State Department for passport records and let me know as soon as you reach a real person."

"Will do, sir, " Edna said. He could hear her pen scratching as she made notes. "Anything else?"

"Not right now. I'll check in later. Bye."

Fox disconnected and rubbed his eyes. He was halfway to the prize now, closer than he'd been in nearly two decades. All that remained between him and his glory now was a mere sixteen year old boy. But for some reason, he wasn't very excited.

o o O o o

"Scott, I'm leaving now," Jenny said. "If you want a ride, you'd better be ready."

"I'm coming--" he sighed.

As they left the apartment building, a neighbor's dog began to bark loudly.

Scott groaned. The dog was just like its owner, Mrs. Derkowski, who was nice enough but a bit of a busybody with a tendency to talk a lot. He and his mother had learned quickly to steer clear. "Chill out, Sparky," he called, putting out one hand toward the mutt. "It's too early for that."

Sparky immediately quieted.

"Damn!" Jenny exclaimed from outside the car.

"What?" Scott asked.

"The doors are jammed. The locks must be frozen."

Scott came down the walk and around to the driver's side. He pulled off one glove and touched his index finger to the keyhole until there was an audible click.

"Thank you," Jenny said, opening the door. "Handy little talents you've got there."

Scott shrugged. "Simple physics, mostly-- knowing how to direct energy."

"Can you do everything your dad can?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "Not yet anyway, though Dad says eventually I probably will. It takes a lot of practice so I only do little things myself. The big stuff is kind of dangerous so I only try when Dad's around to fix it if I mess up--" He stopped short, thinking of all the powers he might never perfect if Paul never came back to teach him.

"Sweetie," Jenny began gently, "It's okay to miss him. I do."

Instead of answering, Scott just stared out the window. It looked dreary as if it were about to rain. Then he whistled. "Ooh, Mom, did you see that Mustang?"

"What color?" she asked.

"Silver. Oh, man, she's a beauty."

"I know. I used to have one. Orange and black."

"Really?" Scott turned to look at her, surprised she knew anything about cars.

"Your dad and I drove to Arizona in it. Later the FSA impounded it for evidence-- what was left of it after it blew up, anyway. I hated to lose that car."

"Mom, if I do really well in school, can I have one for my birthday?" Scott asked.

"You want a Mustang for your birthday?" Jenny repeated.

"Yeah."

"Do you think I'm a Rockefeller or something? You don't even have a driver's license," Jenny reminded him.

"I'll get one," Scott assured her.

"No, you won't. Fox will find you in about ten minutes."

"How's he going to do that if I sign Shane Colby?"

"Yeah, what happens when you're not Shane anymore?" his mother asked.

Scott was confused. "What do you mean?"

"Do you think we can keep this up forever?" Jenny asked.

"Why not? They've got Dad. Nobody was after me before he showed up."

"Because I gave you away so they couldn't find you," Jenny reminded him.

"Well, if you won't let me get a license, I'll just buy a fake I.D." Scott concluded.

"How do you know about fake I.D.'s?" Jenny inquired.

"Artie and Naughton, these con men Dad and I met in L.A.--"

"Don't tell me," Jenny interrupted him, muttering, "I'm lucky to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table and you want a fake I.D. and a Mustang."

"Mom, everybody has a car."

She knew that was just teenage hyperbole. Josh wasn't driving yet either and Andy and Nate had just gotten their learner's permits. Certainly neither one of them had a Mustang, though the boys pored over car magazines for hours. But she only said the words that as a teenager she'd sworn she'd never use as a parent. "You're not everybody."

"Mom," Scott protested. Then, mischievously as a thought occurred to him, "Hey, what did you do about your license?"

"Never mind what I did or didn't do," Jenny said.

"Let me see--" he persisted, reaching for the glove compartment where he knew she kept her wallet.

"Scott, quit it," Jenny snapped. She put out one hand to stop him and narrowly missed a car that was turning in front of her. She managed to slow down just in time. "See what happens when people get distracted doing stupid stuff in the car?" she demanded sharply, still shaken. "You're not ready to drive."

Scott pursed his lips sullenly. How did she know whether he was ready or not? She hadn't seen him since he was three. He'd heard the line about Fox from his father too, but Paul did let him drive once in a while on isolated roads where there was no traffic and little chance of being stopped. That was the difference between his parents. With his dad, he was more of an equal while Jenny just wanted him to stay her baby. Though he liked the idea of having a mom, he hated when she did that. "I do know how to drive, Mom," he said a bit haughtily. "Dad taught me."

"He did, huh?" Jenny said non-committally.

"He's a good driver and he thought I was okay."

"Oh, yeah?" Jenny muttered, recalling her first argument with Scott's father: her furious and terrified, "You said you knew the rules," and the Starman's hurt, bewildered, "I do know the rules." When a few years later, Scotty had piped up from the back seat of the car out of nowhere, "Red light stop. Green light go. What's yellow light, Mommy?" in the distracted way of parents hearing the five hundred and twenty seventh question of the day, she'd nearly blurted, "Yellow light go very fast."

They were about a block from his school now. "You can just let me off here, Mom," he told her casually.

"Why?" Jenny asked. Then she understood. "Oh, so everybody doesn't see your mother dropping you off when they drive up in their Mustangs?"

"Um--" was all Scott could say.

Jenny sighed heavily. "All right." It wasn't worth the battle. She pulled up to the curb. "Have a good day. Call me when you get home."

"Okay," Scott said mechanically as he got out and shut the door.

o o O o o

"Oh, there you are," Fox said, as Wylie walked in the door. "Any luck in Ithaca?"

Wylie shook his head. "Sorry, Mr. Fox. Wrong kid."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, Mr. Fox. It's a fourteen-year-old local. The family's been there for five generations."

"Damn!" Fox exclaimed. "I could have sworn it was ours."

"He wasn't even sure where the Cornell campus was, sir," Wylie went on apologetically. "And Mark Shermin hasn't been there in years. After you got him washed out of SETI, he tried to go back to Cornell for a while, but there was an ugly tenure fight and he lost. Nobody knows where he is now." Wylie had thought the lead far-fetched from the moment they'd received the clipping from a 4-H magazine, but Fox had insisted.

"All right," Fox sighed dejectedly. "Thanks anyway for going, Wylie. Any jet lag?"

"Not really, Mr. Fox. I could use some coffee though."

"There's a fresh pot over there," Fox said. "After that I need you to relieve Casey. The alien's in with the psychologist."

"Anything new?" Wylie asked.

"No," Fox sighed.

Wylie filled his spill-proof mug with coffee and walked downstairs. A bored Casey sat in the hallway guarding the room as the Starman had his session. "The alien's been weird since you left," he reported.

"Weird how?" Wylie asked. "Fires, blown-out windows, blue lights in the sky?"

"No," Casey said, "it asks questions."

"Oh, that," Wylie waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry; he's like that. Just ignore him."

"What kind of alien is it anyway?" Casey asked. "I mean, does it have scales or gills or antennas?"

"No, nothing like that," Wylie said. "That's the problem, you see. You can't tell until he does his alien things. But you know what, Casey? Once in a while when he's talking, he actually makes sense."

o o O o o

"Where are you going? Jenny asked as Scott came out of his room zipping his jacket. She was on the couch massaging her feet, which ached from standing all day.

"Out," Scott responded tersely.

"You'll have to do better than that," she informed him.

"Josh called. He wants me to listen to a new CD he got."

Jenny shook her head no. "Not at this hour, Scott."

"Mom--" he protested.

"There's plenty of time for you to do that after school or on the weekend. Not now. Don't you have a math test tomorrow?"

"I studied," Scott said. "Come on, Mom."

"Scotty, I just got home. It would be nice for you not to go rushing off for once."

"Why?" he asked. "So you can yell at me?"

"I'm not yelling at you." Jenny said.

"Well, it sure feels like it," he retorted.

"Scott," she sighed. "I'm tired and my feet are killing me. I don't feel like arguing any more than you do. I just don't want you walking all the way to the other side of town and back in the dark to listen to some CD."

Scott made a face. Like he'd never been in the dark before? "Actually, I was going to call Liz on the way."

Jenny relented slightly as he knew she would. They still hadn't heard anything from Paul and they were intensely worried. Wary of the phone in the apartment being traced, they used pay phones whenever they called Liz. "That you can do, but be back in half an hour. Did you put away the dishes?"

She knew from his face that he'd forgotten.

"I'll do it when I come back," he said.

She stopped massaging and beckoned to him. "Come here."

Oh, no, Scott cringed, What now? He walked over to the couch cautiously.

"Look at me," His mother's voice was quiet but firm.

He raised his head slowly.

"No act, right?" she asked. "You're going to the pay phone to call Liz then you're coming straight home and putting away the dishes the way you're supposed to?"

Scott was unnerved. He knew better than to lie to his father because Paul could sense other people's thoughts. Though Jenny wasn't an alien, she was having the same creepy effect. "No act, Mom," he said finally.

"Good." Jenny said

Scott couldn't resist a parting shot. "Dad was more fun," he said, closing the door behind him before she could answer.

He went downstairs and into the night air. He'd told Jenny the truth. It wasn't an act tonight, though sometimes it was. He'd say he was somewhere with his friends then just wander around town or go to the deserted athletic field at school to run off energy, to be alone, to get away. Being cooped up in the apartment with not much more than his schoolbooks was positively claustrophobic. But what was he getting away from? Hadn't he dreamed about this for thirteen years? Wasn't this where he would and should have been if Fox hadn't had his way-- with his mom? Then why wasn't he happy? He knew deep down that Jenny was trying, but it was so-- too late-- and small comfort without his dad. He shoved his hands in his pockets, a handful of change in one and the sphere in the other.

o o O o o

"Come in here for a minute," Fox motioned to the two deputies. "Both of you."

"What about the alien?" Casey asked.

"The technicians will be in there another hour at least," Fox told him. "He's not going anywhere."

"Oh," Casey said. "Okay." He followed Wylie and Fox into the office and settled into a seat around their conference table.

"Don't get too comfortable," Fox warned. "Now-- which one of you vouchered for peanut butter cups?"

"That was me, sir." Wylie held up his hand.

Rather than being incensed as they expected, Fox was simply bemused. "Wylie, you've been with the FSA for twelve years. Don't you know that's a personal expense?"

"It was for the dog, sir." Wylie told him.

"What dog?"

"Remember the nasty one in St. Louis that kept chasing us? One day Casey dropped his peanut butter cup by mistake and we found out it likes them. Never bothered us again!" Wylie explained triumphantly.

"You've been bribing dogs with peanut butter cups?" Fox was still processing this.

"Just that one, sir."

"You two are federal agents. You mean to tell me you're afraid of a little poodle?"

"Rottweiler, sir," Wylie corrected.

"Casey?" Fox looked expectantly in the direction of the junior deputy.

Casey shrugged. "Whatever works, sir. It was an ugly brute."

"We can't call off dogs like the alien can, sir," Wylie added

True, Fox admitted to himself. He gave them a half smile. "You know, it probably wasn't too good for the dog."

"I know, Mr. Fox," Wylie replied. "It made him happy though."

Fox regarded the agent for an instant with affectionate pride he didn't know he had. Then he asked quietly, "Got any left?"

"I don't think so, sir," Wylie apologized. "We do have some really good beef jerky though. Would you like some?"

"No, thank you," Fox said. Then, self-consciously lapsing back into his official tones. "You didn't charge that to the expense account, did you? Tell me now before I have Washington on my back again!"

o o O o o

"Mom!" Scott exclaimed in a panicked voice as he entered the dark apartment. Jenny had all the blinds drawn and was lying on the couch in the middle of the afternoon.

"Oh, God, Scotty, close the door," she said weakly, turning her head away from the light in the hallway.

He put down his backpack and went to her. "What's wrong?"

"It's a migraine," she told him. "It'll go away eventually."

Scott had heard of migraines but had never seen anyone having one. "Should I get you something from the drugstore?"

"No," she said. She'd been through every over-the-counter remedy on the shelf. Nothing helped.

"Do you need a doctor?" he asked anxiously.

"No!" she winced in pain and disagreement. Doctors wanted insurance cards and asked sticky personal questions.

"How about water or tea or--" he tried, desperate to be helpful. In his mind, he pleaded, Please don't die on me; don't let her die on me.

"No, baby, thank you for asking."

He cringed at "baby", but under the circumstances let it go.

She tried to smile. "I just need to sleep. Just keep your music down, okay?"

"Sure, Mom," Scott said, still not reassured. He thought of trying to lay on hands like his father, but he was afraid he'd make a mistake and give her brain damage. He settled for turning off the ringer on the phone and going to his room, praying all the while that she was right.

o o O o o

"Casey, you're dripping all over the place!" Fox snapped. "You're also late." Since he'd sent Wylie out to check on something, he'd had to sit with the alien for an extra twenty minutes until Casey got back from lunch.

"Yes, Mr. Fox," Casey said almost inaudibly. "I'm sorry. I had personal business to take care of."

Fox sniffed. Since he hadn't had a personal life in eighteen years, he couldn't conceive of how anybody could have business outside of 617-W. "Well, all right," he said finally as Casey pulled off his drenched poncho, rolled it into a ball and tossed it into a corner with the rest of the agents' umbrellas and rain gear. "I'll be returning phone calls if you need me. Dr. Tomasheff will be here shortly."

"Yes, sir," Casey said.

As soon as Fox had left, the Starman asked, "Do you like football, James-casey?"

"Why?" Casey sighed. The small talk got on his nerves, but he was getting used to it now. If he didn't humor the alien sometimes, it would never shut up.

"Your poncho says 'Chicago Bears,'" the Starman said.

"Somebody gave it to me," Casey said. "Surplus."

"I see," the Starman said. "Tell me something. Why are so many sports teams named after animals? Bears and falcons and seahawks don't chase little balls around a field."

Casey merely snorted. Then, as he saw the alien smile, "What?"

"You have the scent of nature on you," the Starman told him.

Casey looked aghast, thinking the alien was commenting on his hygiene.

"The smell of new rain on the trees-- " the Starman continued. "It's nice. My son and I walk in the woods often. He likes me to show him plants and tell him about the clouds and the stars-- They're quiet times, but ones which make us feel happy and closer to one another. Are there things like that which you enjoy?"

Casey shrugged, shifting nervously in his seat.

"You don't like talking very much, do you? " the Starman observed.

"Why do you care?" the agent retorted.

"Why not?" the Starman responded matter-of-factly.

"What's with the Twenty Questions anyway? You're the one who's being psychoanalyzed and all that."

"What's wrong with questions?" the Starman inquired. "Are you afraid of the answers?"

o o O o o

"Scott, put those away and turn off the music please," Jenny said, as he sprawled on the couch with a pile of car and video game magazines. "We have to talk."

"Okay," he complied. "What?"

"I was just at the laundromat," she began. "Why do your clothes smell like smoke?"

He shrugged. "Hanging around the arcade, I guess."

"There's a cigarette hole in your jean jacket," she informed him bluntly.

Oh, shoot, she noticed. He thought fast. "Um, yeah, Mom, I kinda had a little accident with the sphere--"

She knew he was lying, which almost bothered her more than the smoking itself. He'd gotten far too comfortable with stretching the truth. "No, Scott, that's a cigarette burn," she corrected pointedly. "I used to smoke. I know. How long has this been going on?"

"I only did it twice," he said. "Well, three times--"

"Where did you get the cigarettes?"

He hesitated. "Mom, you're not going to tell, are you?"

"Right now I don't know what I'm going to do, Scott," she snapped.

"From Josh," he confessed lamely.

Jenny pressed her hands against her temples and sighed. Josh was even younger than Scott. "Why?" she asked as calmly as she could muster.

"No reason." Josh had offered and he'd taken them. He couldn't say why. He hadn't even liked them that much, but he couldn't admit that and let her know she was right.

Jenny let out an involuntary snort. What kind of answer was that? Even "Because I felt like it." would have made more sense. She silently counted to five before responding. She couldn't manage ten. "You're not a baby anymore, Scott. I shouldn't have to be with you every second. You have to make your own decisions, but I'm not impressed by this one and I'm very disappointed that you felt the need to lie to me about it."

"Sorry," Scott said.

The two of them sat in silence until Scott began to feel uneasy and blurted, "Why are you making such a big deal out of it, Mom? It's not like I was smoking grass or worse."

Thank God for that, she thought. "That's not the point, Scott."

"You used to smoke," he pointed out.

"Yes," she conceded. "But I wasn't sixteen. And I quit."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I was pregnant with you, I couldn't afford it anyway and Grandpa Geffner had emphysema from chain smoking two packs a day for three quarters of his life," she replied. "Have you ever seen anybody with emphysema?"

"No," Scott said.

"It's not pretty. I don't fault him; that's what people did back then, but he died too young and too painfully." She didn't tell him that the pain of her father's last years was compounded by all the volatile events and emotions of Scott's infancy. For all he had argued with her, for all he didn't seem to understand, the forced separation from his daughter and grandson was a great regret of his life. It was one of hers too, but she couldn't turn back the clock.

She went on, "It's just bad for you. If when you're an adult, you want to smoke, that's your choice, but I don't want you doing it while you're still growing." Not realizing she was thinking aloud, she added, "Oh, Scott, what would your father think of this?"

"I don't know," Scott said.

Jenny tried to think like Paul and conjured up an image of Fox with flaming paper and tobacco hanging from his lips. She didn't think the agent smoked, but he was the most absurd human she could think of. She smiled to herself and said a silent prayer for Paul's safe return.

"Are you finished?" Scott inquired.

She looked at him directly. "You're skating on thin ice, Scott,"

"I'm only asking," he said.

"That depends. Do you still have any cigarettes?"

"No."

"If you do, give them to me. Please."

"I said I don't, Mom," he told her, annoyed. This was getting old.

"Are you just saying that or do you mean it?" Jenny asked.

"I mean it," Scott said.

"Fine, let's leave it at that-- for now," she concluded.

As she got up to leave, Scott said, "Mom, don't say anything about Josh, please?"

Was she getting through to him? If Scott had given Josh the cigarettes, she thought she'd want Josh's mother to tell her. On the other hand, she hardly knew the Schulzes and it was enough to worry about her own son let alone somebody else's. "Why are you so concerned about Josh?" she asked.

"Dad says we have to look out for our fellow man," Scott told her.

"You know that's not what he meant." Then as he started to speak again, "Don't push it, Scott. Go do your homework."

o o O o o

In the kitchen, scraping and cutting vegetables for dinner, she turned this latest incident over in her mind. Had she been too hard on him? Too lenient? Should she have done something? What could she take away from him that hadn't been already just because of whom she and his father had made him? She could forbid him to see his friends, but she still wouldn't know what he was doing when she wasn't with him and being with him wasn't a very pleasant prospect under the circumstances.

She recalled one of the few times she'd spanked him when he was young. Her own parents had done it without a second thought when she and Wayne deserved it, but she'd never been in the habit of it with Scotty. He'd been rambunctious and stubborn at times but rarely willfully disobedient. His occasional tantrums were precipitated by relatively simple wants and needs: food, sleep, playthings, a little cuddling and reassurance, and once he got them, he quickly calmed. Yet, for some reason, that day he'd had a total meltdown that went from bad to worse, culminating when she turned away for an instant and he climbed up on the dresser trying to "fly". She swore no completely human child, even All-State jock Scott Hayden's boy, could have managed that so fast. She'd grabbed him in horror as the thing began to tip, screamed at him never to do it again, spanked him and sent him to bed early. By that time, they were both completely exhausted. It usually didn't work to punish him by isolation as he merely sulked, but being alone in the dark was a different matter. She'd sat in the other room listening to his howls and feeling like a monster for beating up on her kid until he finally, mercifully, dropped off to sleep.

She felt the same way now, but didn't know why. There was no reason fifteen and sixteen year old kids needed to be smoking. Even to fit in, or whatever he thought he was doing. It was so crazy. Not that she hadn't done plenty of stupid, crazy things in her time-- including, according to some, having a kid with a Starman. Maybe she was making too much of it. He'd said he wasn't going to smoke anymore. She should just let it go. But she couldn't, because what next? Other adolescents had the luxury of time to make their mistakes, rebel, and finally mature and grow. Scott didn't. She never knew when he might be taken from her and she from him-- next month, next week, next hour-- Even her beloved mother-in-law, who'd lost her own Scott in the prime of his life, had had her husband and her other children to love and to give her comfort and pride in their accomplishments. Jenny had only young Scott. Long ago his father had prophesied that when Scott Jr. grew to manhood he would be a teacher, a glorious scion for Earth and Algeiba. The problem, however, was getting him there.

She rinsed her hands under the tap and dried them. As she picked up her ring to slip it back on, a ray of sunlight hit it and it glinted, almost as brilliantly as a sphere. She turned it over and looked at the inside, engraved with her and Scott's initials, their wedding date and the single word: Forever. "What do you think, Scott?" she asked aloud. She wasn't speaking to her son.

o o O o o

"Wow, it was busy today," Jenny's co-worker Pat commented as the two of them finally sat down for a much needed break.

"Yes," Jenny agreed. "Pat, can I ask a favor?"

"Sure. What do you need?"

"Would you mind covering for me Wednesday? It's Open School Night and I'd like to be there. I'll take your hours on Friday."

"No problem," Pat agreed amiably. "Our kids are gone and it's not like Marty and I go out all night anymore. Go ahead and don't worry about it."

"Thanks. It helps a lot."

"I know. I remember how hard it was to juggle everything when mine were young. I'm sure you'll hear only glowing things about Shane. Burt Gendron's very fond of him, so the other teachers must be too."

"I know," Jenny said. "Shane's close to Nate and I'm glad. The Gendrons are a good influence on him."

Pat laughed. "Margaret, Shane's a good influence on Nate. Your son is one of the politest, most considerate teenagers I've met in a long time."

Jenny smiled grimly. "To everybody but his mother. I look at him sometimes and think, 'What happened to my sweet baby?' He's very bright, very stubborn and boy, does he have a mouth. Lately everything's a battle."

"It's the age, Margaret," Pat reassured her. "It's very normal. They think they know everything-- or they want to think they know everything. They're testing, getting ready for independence. It gets better with time; I promise you."

"My parents were very conservative and it was the '60's so I rebelled," Jenny said. "But I don't remember being like this."

"You wake up and say, 'My God, how did I turn into my parents? What am I saying?' Right?" Pat asked.

"Yes!" Jenny exclaimed. "My son keeps telling me I don't 'get it' and I should get 'with it' and I ask myself, 'What's it?'"

"Sounds familiar," Pat told her.

"I feel guilty because of his father," Jenny went on, so relaxed that she almost forgot to be careful. "They're close and Shane misses him. Often when I tell him things, he'll say, 'Well, Dad-'"

"Ours did that too and Marty was home," Pat said. "But it must be hard not having your husband around. I bet he's strict, so maybe Shane's taking advantage a little now."

"Maybe," Jenny said. "P-- David does expect a lot of Shane and hold him to very high standards-- more than I do, but he's not authoritarian like my father was: 'Do as I say and shut up.' He listens to Shane. I have to learn to do that more."

"You look like you're doing fine to me, Margaret, Pat said. "Hang in there. You and Shane will be all right."

o o O o o

"Kari, go away," Nate said to his sister as he and Scott sat by the computer playing a new game. "Can't you see we're busy?"

"No fair, Nate, I'm telling--"

"Be my guest," Nate muttered.

Kari stomped upstairs and shortly Mr. Gendron was at the door. "Nate, can I talk to you please? Excuse us for a minute, Shane."

"Dad, she's being a brat," Nate protested.

"Nathaniel--" His father gestured silently but emphatically, drawing him into the hallway. Scott respected Mr. Gendron for that. Some of the other teachers yelled at everybody for little things, but Nate's dad tried not to embarrass people in front of their friends. He was speaking very softly so that all Scott overheard was "Well, get it for her and I'll make sure she leaves you guys alone for the rest of the afternoon."

"Sorry, Shane, Nate will be just a few minutes," Mr. Gendron apologized, coming in as his son went off to his room.

"No problem," Scott shrugged.

"You don't have the pleasure of a little sister, do you?" Mr. Gendron quipped.

Scott grinned. "No, I'm an only."

"I could tell even before I got to know you," Mr. Gendron told him. "You have a seriousness that often comes from being around adults a lot."

Scott laughed nervously. "Is that good or bad?"

"Good, mostly," Mr. Gendron said. "Believe it or not, siblings do have their good points, so I'm glad Nate and Kari have each other, but on the other hand, I think a lot of only children are closer to their parents in a way that's harder to achieve when the attention has to be shared. I've only spoken to your mother a few times, but it seems that way with the two of you."

"Yeah, well--" Scott broke off non-committally.

"You miss your dad, don't you?" Mr. Gendron asked.

Scott was startled momentarily. He'd gotten so used to hiding the truth about his dad that it took a few seconds to realize that Mr. Gendron wasn't talking about Paul, but the father Scott almost had forgotten Shane was supposed to have. "Yeah, I do. I guess you're right. We've had to leave friends so much that we've had to be close."

"That must be hard," Mr. Gendron agreed. "I'm sure your father misses you too. I'd like to meet him one day. He must be an interesting guy."

"He's pretty cool," Scott acknowledged.

"Nate thinks you're cool too," Mr. Gendron said. "So do I, so I'm not surprised."

"Thanks," Scott said,

"This time, Shane, keep your friends a while, okay?"

"I'll try," Scott said.

o o O o o

"Wow, did you get a look at those brain waves?" an unfamiliar voice exclaimed to someone right by the Starman's left ear. "They're really something."

"Amazing," another voice agreed. "I've never seen anything like it. High delta p!"

"What does it mean?" the first voice asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea," the second one responded. "Just copy it down and let the Pentagon figure it out. I'm glad we got something. One more day with Fox breathing down my neck and I would have strangled the s.o.b."

"Wouldn't we all," the first sighed. Then, "What the hell is that?"

"It's waking up or something," his partner said. One of them pulled the Starman's arm still.

The Starman flinched. They had his face completely covered by some sort of heavy mask so that he couldn't see. It felt clammy against his skin and the adhesive in his hair itched horribly. He'd been trying to scratch without attracting attention, but no such luck. A firm pressure came down on the mask and all of a sudden he couldn't breathe.

It wasn't his nature to fight, but he knew instantly that this time it was life or death. He struggled to pull his hands out of the restraints and to move his head. From deep in the throat, he uttered a shrill sound of alarm.

The voices stopped and he heard one person take a few steps toward him. Otherwise, he couldn't tell what the technicians were doing. His body wouldn't budge. Quickly realizing that the effort only would waste more air, he forced himself to lie still and continued his guttural noises.

Nothing. Were these men stupid or did they simply not care? The Starman began to have strange, fleeting hallucinations: the sounds of gunfire and soldiers shouting in a language he didn't understand, the smell of new lumber and fresh paint, the taste of Dutch apple pie and chocolate malt, the sensation of rushing through space and time, and what he thought were Scott and Jenny's voices calling to him, only on the wrong speed. He wondered if this was what was meant by life passing before one's eyes- those of his two successive human hosts as well as his own. It must have been only a few seconds, but it seemed an eternity. In his mind, he said quick goodbyes he knew his family would never hear and waited for the inevitable to come.

"We're ordering lunch; want anything?" Wylie barged into the room abruptly.

"Would you mind not banging the door?" the second technician retorted.

"Sorry," Wylie said. "Lunch?"

"Nah. Thanks though."

"I'll take turkey, lettuce, tomato and mayo on a roll and black coffee," the other one told Wylie. "Will a five cover it?"

The Starman heard Wylie approach to take the money. "Hey, do you know this green dial's turned all the way up?" the agent inquired.

"No," one of the technicians replied.

"Better pay attention," Wylie advised. "The alien could suffocate, you know. That would make Mr. Fox pretty mad."

He adjusted the dial and the Starman breathed a long sigh of relief in more ways than one.

o o O o o

What are you doing? Jenny mouthed to Scott as she walked into the room in search of something to loosen the cap of a stuck paint jar.

He muted the receiver against his chest, impatient at her for missing the obvious. "I'm on the phone."

She could see that. He'd taken the phone in the kitchen for privacy, which she could understand if he'd been conversing, but from what she could tell, he wasn't speaking or even making sounds to acknowledge that he was listening to anyone. He was just holding the phone to his ear. And these were kids he saw all day in school. But she said nothing, retrieved a jar opener from the drawer and went back out to finish her project.

A few minutes later, he emerged and came over to watch as she worked. "Hi, kiddo," she said amiably.

"You don't paint starscapes anymore?" he asked.

"Sometimes," she told him. "But I do other things too."

"What's this one going to be?"

"I don't know yet. I'm just experimenting right now."

"Mom, Andy's having a party next weekend," Scott began.

"Oh, that's nice," Jenny said.

"Can I go?"

"Are his parents going to be home?" Jenny asked.

"Actually, it's at his cousin's house." Scott informed her.

"Well, will there be adults there?"

"Yeah, I guess." Scott said. "Andy's aunt and uncle--"

"How many kids?"

"I don't know-- Andy, his cousins, a bunch of friends-- They've got a big house and there's supposed to be a great jazz club around there. We'd go up after school on Friday and be back on Sunday."

Jenny had heard enough. "No, Scott."

"Why?" he protested.

"You know why," his mother replied. "Where is this place?"

"Clearfield. Do you really think Fox is going to look there?"

"With him, I never know," Jenny said. "It's not just Fox though. You're sixteen, Scott. If you think I'm going to let you go out of town for the weekend so you and a bunch of kids can go to some club and stay with people I haven't even met-- "

"You've met Andy," Scott interrupted. "And his mom and dad. You thought they were nice, didn't you?"

"Scott, that's not the point," Jenny sighed. She shuddered at the possibilities when a large group of high school kids got together: Smoking, drinking, drugs, the opposite sex, fast cars in the hands of newly licensed drivers-- She remembered what she and Wayne had put their parents through and it hadn't been half as bad.

"Then what is?" Scott demanded. "Wasn't that the point of coming here, changing our names and all that so I could have a real life for once? Is that too much to ask? All you ever want me to do is stay home and study."

"That's not true," Jenny told him. "I'm sorry, Scott, but this is out of the question. There are just too many things that worry me about it."

"So that's it? You're not even going to think about it before you say no?" Scott persisted. Then, "Oh, I get it. It's because of the cigarettes, right? You're still sore."

Yes. No. She didn't know. "Is that how you see it?" Jenny asked. "You shouldn't smoke because I got sore?"

"I told you, Mom, I'm not doing it anymore. I never really was in the first place," Scott argued. "Just three lousy cigarettes and I'm paying for it for the rest of my life?"

"Scott, if I wanted to punish you, I could have," she reminded him. "I didn't."

"You don't trust me," Scott accused.

"I don't trust other people around you," Jenny said. "The cigarettes are part of it, but not the only reason. You've been through a lot and you're strong, but there are a thousand other things out there that you've never had to deal with before and that scares me. I don't want to have to worry about what Fox is doing to your dad, what he might do to you and me, and what you're going to be doing all weekend."

"Oh, so it's all about you," Scott said. "Not about me or what I want at all."

How had it come to this? "Scott, everything in my life is about you." Jenny said.

"Well, what if I promise to do all the dishes, the laundry and the cleaning for like-- a month?" he tried. "Then can I go?"

"No. We're not making deals on this one. When it comes to your safety-- our safety, it's not negotiable."

"You're so unfair."

"Too bad," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he continued petulantly.

She could go on giving him reasons until she was blue in the face, but he wouldn't accept any of them so she fell back on an answer she'd heard throughout her own childhood. She hadn't liked it any better than he would, but it was true and, in this case, was the bottom line. "Because you're a kid, I'm your mother and it's my decision."

"I wish Dad was here," Scott said, reaching for his strongest card.

"I do too, but he's not," Jenny told him curtly, worn down by his complaining and frustrated by the scantiness of her own authority. Not that it surprised her. She was Scott's mother, but why should that mean anything to him? Up until a few weeks ago, she'd been a stranger. She doubted Paul would have let Scott go either, but she was sure he would have handled it better.

"I'm tired of being a freak," Scott burst out suddenly. "I wish my father really was a house painter."

"Even if he were, you still wouldn't get to go," Jenny retorted, finally losing patience. "You are who you are."

"Well, you two should have thought of that before you had me!"

He'd hit a nerve and he knew it. Since they'd been reunited, Jenny had never yet raised her voice to him but now she did. "Scott, that's enough! "

He stared at her defiantly, got up, went to his room and shut the door. For most of her son's lifetime, Jenny had been dreading this moment, but it wasn't the one she'd expected. Instead of asking why she'd given him up, he wanted to know why she'd had him at all. She didn't know if she had an answer. With Scott Sr., there had been talking, planning, trying. With the Starman, it had been a simple statement of fact. "I gave you a baby tonight... If you do not want this, say so now and I will stop it." At the time, she hadn't thought about the future, only that the Starman was leaving, she couldn't go with him and she'd probably never see him again. Even after years of running and of second-guessing herself for leaving young Scott to be raised by strangers, it had never occurred to her to ask that particular question. He was their child, born of a union so brief but stronger and purer than anything she had ever known.

She leaned over to switch brushes, and in a moment of inattention, knocked over a large jar of blue paint. It spilled all over the paper and the table, splattering onto the floor and the front of her shirt. Cursing under her breath, she righted the nearly empty container, gathered up the mess and threw it in the trash. She made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning the worst of the paint stains, but they wouldn't come out. Completely disgusted, she threw down the old towel she was using, went into the bathroom, undressed in a daze and turned on the shower full force. Under the rush of warm water where Scott couldn't hear her, she finally allowed herself the deep, wracking sobs of anguish she'd held back all these long weeks for the sake of her son.

o o O o o

The teenager with her now was a far cry from the three-year-old chatterbox who raced around like quicksilver clamoring for attention: "Mommy, Mommy--" "Scotty, you need to be quiet when grownups are talking, please." "My daddy's a pilot and I'm Spiderman." "I know, baby. Sit over there and play." That three-year-old also climbed unquestioningly into welcoming laps, readily obliged requests for hugs and kisses and proudly announced his name to anyone who asked: "Scott Hayden Jr." That child was Jenny's pride, joy and reason for being.

It was at night when the demons came. Even if she put him to sleep in his own bed, he often crawled into hers or insisted on knowing she was near. She spent hours quieting his sobs of terror: "Bad man coming for me, Mommy--" unable to contradict him truthfully even as she murmured, "Shh, Scotty, Mommy's here." The same little boy who chatted easily with some strangers, reveling in their indulgent laughs of "Oh, how cute!" wouldn't go near others, even if coaxed with candy and toys. Jenny now recognized that as the Starman's gift of knowing who was safe and who meant harm-- an ability Scott apparently had lost in the years away from her and was only now rediscovering.

Her time with him had been far too short, yet being on the run for months on end also had left her perpetually exhausted, lonely and broke. At first, she'd had a small nest egg from the reluctant sale of her cherished cabin. She managed it carefully, but eventually it had run out, and though she was fiercely independent and never one to shrink from hard work, she was terrified of leaving Scotty in the care of others. They became each other's only companions. Once, wanting him to have the company of other children and hungering for adult interaction, she'd briefly tried a mothers' and toddlers' group. He, predictably, had thrived and the other women were nice enough, but she'd felt out of place, unable to relate to mundane debates about strollers and pacifiers that paled against her overriding concern for her child's very life.

They still used their own names then. It was easier in the days before ubiquitous computers and anything else would have been too confusing for Scotty. She didn't go out of her way to leave a trail. Scotty became good at being in the car for long stretches as long as she didn't give him too much sugar. He also grew used to the hurried sponge baths in isolated public restrooms where people wouldn't stare at them and the succession of dim motels where she'd sleep with one hand over him in the single bed, ready to bolt at any minute. He learned not to stray from her in stores and parking lots-- every mother's nightmare magnified-- and instinctively began to distinguish the subtleties of language that signaled danger: A sharp, warning, "Hush!" rather than "Please be quiet, baby." meant they'd soon be "going for a drive."

At first, they'd slip back to Madison whenever she dared. She knew her in-laws would greet them with hugs, home cooking and frequently money, unasked, though the Haydens were far from rich. Her parents too, though from her father it inevitably came with a lecture: "Please, Dad. The baby needs to eat." "I know that. Come home, find yourself a nice young man and give my grandson a father for God's sake. You're worrying your mother to death out there." "It's not that simple, Dad. The government's after us if you haven't noticed." "Serves you right for getting mixed up in that bra-burning, protest march stuff. Red-blooded American boys like your brother are fighting and dying in Nam to protect our way of life and you gotta run around the country with a baby finding yourself." "I told you, that's got nothing to do with it. They want to hurt Scotty because of who he is, who his father is." "Whoever he is, he meant you no damn good, taking advantage of you when you were down then running out on you." "He didn't want to leave. If I hadn't helped him escape, he would have died." "Jenny, listen to me, darling, you keep talking like that and somebody will take that little boy away from you and put you in the loony bin and there won't be a damn thing we can do to help you then!"

Back then, when she was still full of youthful self-righteousness, those conversations had been infuriating and hurtful. With hair-trigger sensitivity, she'd argue, cry and curse the ignorance of anyone who dared question her veracity or judgment when it came to her son. Only after her father was long gone from her life had she come to recognize the genuine concern behind those words, trying desperately to make sense out of a situation completely out of his frame of reference. Wayne, who was frequently referred to in accusing tones as "that Geffner boy," had been the one to keep their parents awake at night. Jenny had been the good girl, sweet and straight as an arrow. Of course it hadn't figured. Before the Starman, if the elder Scott had come home with a story about one of their friends and somebody from another planet, she would have snickered too. At times, she wondered if her father had been right, if it would have been better to say Scotty was Scott's child and leave well enough alone.

For there was no getting around the truth. Whatever forces pushed her in that direction, it was she, not Fox, who had broken the trust her son had had for her, putting him in the social worker's arms and walking quickly away while he was distracted by a toy. She still shuddered imagining his inevitable wails of confusion when it finally hit him that she was gone: "MOMMY! MOMMY!" That voice in her head had haunted her, waking her in a cold sweat long after his bed was empty. Wayne, who'd never hidden his own disdain for her explanation of Scotty's origins and whose relationship with his nephew had been peripheral at best, was strangely furious when he found out well after the fact: "You walked out on him? Christ, Jenny-- running home like he's not even yours!" Not until after Peagrum, years later, would her brother-- like their father, never good at showing his own vulnerability-- break down in tears and tell her of the half-Vietnamese son he'd left behind as a young GI. It was one crucial detail of his war experience that she suspected he hadn't even told his wife. His guilt and shame were burdens Jenny knew well and had learned the hard way to bear alone.

She wanted desperately to make it up to Scott, but didn't know how. Part of her felt like a hypocrite for telling him things she wasn't sure she felt herself. She wanted their relationship to be open and honest, an anchor he could depend on in the web of secrets and lies that governed the rest of their tenuously constructed lives. Scott was undeniably more independent, articulate and resourceful than his peers and she was proud, but those strengths had come at a price. While he was confronted with some painful realities, he'd been sheltered from others and she didn't know how he'd handle them. As a mother, she still felt the impulse to protect him and allow him to be the child he hadn't been. It concerned her how manipulative he could be. Though sometimes necessary for survival, it was no longer cute as it had been when he was a preschooler. She wondered if it was possible to spoil him and what spoiling was when it came to Scott.

What was "real life" anyway? He kept saying that, but she didn't have the faintest idea what he meant. She didn't know if he did either. Wisconsin pre-Starman, where she and Scott Sr. had bought the cabin on the bay, where they'd fished and hiked, bought the Mustang, planned for the babies that didn't come, was a distant dream now that seemed like paradise compared to the last eighteen years. Paul couldn't help Scott with this Earth madness. It was up to her, and so far she was failing miserably.

o o O o o

Scott shut his door, put on his Walkman and turned the volume to blasting. He couldn't take it anymore. What was wrong with her? This wasn't what he'd spent so many years and traveled so many miles to find. Maybe he should just take off. He looked a bit young for his age, but could pass for eighteen if he let the stubble grow out. Nobody would bug him about school or his clothes or where he was going anymore. He'd just hit the road and find his dad. Yeah, he could do that.

He got up and put some things in his backpack. It only took about ten minutes. He got his jacket and checked to see that Jenny wasn't nearby before he slipped out. If he didn't say goodbye, she wouldn't have a chance to argue with him. It was easier that way.

He headed down the street, not sure where he was going yet. As he passed an empty playground, he noticed a tire swing. Impulsively, he put down the bag and jumped over the fence. There had been one at his elementary school in Seattle years ago. The speed always had been a thrill, making him feel as if he were racing against the sky. He recognized now that like his fondness for roller coasters and his childhood fascination for superheroes, his father had always been a part of him.

He approached tentatively and climbed on. He was too tall to stand on the tire as he had then, so he sat with his long legs dangling from the hole and dragging on the wood chips beneath him. He leaned forward and began to rock, pumping his legs to gain momentum. It didn't work. After a few weak swings back and forth, he felt nauseated.

Disappointed, he slipped out of the swing, retrieved his belongings and kept walking. A bus was letting off passengers just as he passed the stop, so he got on, put his money in the fare box and took a seat. He rode for several stops through neighboring towns until he got bored and decided to get off.

He was hungry, so he went into the nearest store, bought a large bottle of soda, several chocolate bars and the latest issue of his favorite car magazine. Sitting on the bench outside, he rejoiced at being able to savor them without anyone nagging about wasting money or rotting his teeth and brains. He was quietly minding his own business when suddenly and distinctly, he heard his father say, "Scott, what are you doing here?"

He whirled around, but couldn't see anyone but a drunk sleeping in a nearby doorway. "Dad, where are you?"

"I'm in your pocket," Paul's voice answered calmly.

Scott grabbed for his sphere in bewilderment. It wasn't lit, but just looked like the same giant marble it always did.

"I thought I told you to stay with your mother," Paul's voice said sternly.

"Sorry, Dad, but I can't," Scott told him. "She's driving me nuts."

Paul's voice paused. "Define 'nuts.'"

"Wacko, bonkers, crazier than a loon," Scott supplied.

"She loves you," Paul's voice said.

"Well, I don't need that kind of love," Scott said flatly.

"Yes, you do," Paul's voice replied. "How do you plan to survive on your own?"

"I'll get a job somewhere," Scott said quickly. "Or-- um-- I'll go live with Liz."

Paul's voice laughed. "How do you know Liz wants you to live with her?"

"I don't," Scott conceded. "But she's got to be better than Mom."

"Scott," Paul's voice began, "remember what I told you in Illinois just before Jenny found us? In the three years you've been with me, you've grown and learned things people down here never even dream of. But you've forgotten how it is to live in her world, the one where you were born and will become a man. When was the last time you had friends or a teacher who encourages you like Nate's dad or the chance to stay in one school for an entire term like you do now? You need these experiences to become an adult, to know what to do when somebody gives you cigarettes--"

"How do you know about that?" Scott asked.

Paul's voice ignored him. "It's not just about you either. Being an adult is taking responsibility for others. How do you think your mother will feel when she realizes you're gone?"

"She'll get over it," Scott said.

"Scott, she hasn't gotten over the first time. She'll be worried and hurt. If you want to leave, at least you should tell her-- and why."

"Oh, no, you're not going to pull an Eric Kendall thing on me, are you?" Scott protested. "Go away, Dad."

"I am away," Paul's voice reminded him. "I thought you wanted me to come back."

"What?" Scott said, totally confused.

"Scott," Paul's voice sighed sadly, "You need your mother but she needs you to love and protect her too. That's what love is, caring about somebody else more than you care about yourself."

"Which Algeiban book of wisdom did that come from?" Scott asked sarcastically.

"It wasn't a book," Paul's voice told him. "It was your mother."

"What?" Scott was completely dumbfounded now.

"The first day she and I were together, she was talking about Scott-- your other father-- and about love," Paul's voice told him."That's what she taught me and she's right. Both of us have given up many things for each other and for you. We don't talk about it much, but that's also part of love."

"Are you coming back, Dad?" Scott said.

"Yes, as soon as I can, but it might be a long time. I don't know. Until then, I need to be able to trust that you and Jenny are safe. You explained trust to me, remember? You said it's doing something when somebody asks you to, even if you think it's dumb."

"Yeah, yeah," Scott muttered. Why didn't his father ever forget things?

"Think about it," Paul's voice said.

"Dad--" Scott began, but the voice had vanished. He still had no idea where it had come from. His mind must be playing tricks on him. He turned around to see the drunk staring at him. "What are you looking at?" he demanded.

"You're weird, man," the drunk said promptly, getting up and shuffling away. "Talking to yourself-- I'm gonna stay away from you."

Scott got up and wandered around some more. In a park, he bounced a stray tennis ball against a wall with a vengeance for a long time, then sat down under a tree and stared up at the shapes of the clouds. It was too early for the stars to come out, though he knew from the position of the sun that dusk was approaching.

He must have fallen asleep because when he woke up, leaning against his backpack, it was dark. He struggled to focus his eyes and jumped when he heard a voice again: "If you're going to spend the night out here, you'd better have a blanket."

He looked up at his mother. "How'd you find me?"

"A little fact of life, Scott Hayden, Jr.-- besides death and taxes. The three people who can always find you are George Fox and your parents," Jenny said matter-of-factly. Then, "Are you going to come home?"

"I'm not sure," Scott said.

Jenny said nothing.

"Don't you want to know where I've been?" he asked.

"Only if you want to tell me," she responded.

"I was going to look for Dad," Scott explained.

"I see," Jenny acknowledged. "Well, there's a good dinner, a hot shower and a comfortable bed waiting for you if you want it."

Scott pondered this some more. All that was better than sleeping on the cold, damp grass and he'd just blown most of his money anyway. "I guess so."

"Fine," Jenny said.

They went home in silence. Jenny put dinner on the table and he ate hungrily.

o o O o o

Jenny came over quietly and laid a small but thick unmarked book on the table.

"What's this?" Scott asked curiously.

"Letters to you," she replied

He looked at her questioningly. She indicated the book. He picked it up and opened it to the first page, dated more than thirteen years before: Dear Scotty, I gave you away today. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do besides lose your two dads. I handed you Rascal, your little dog, kissed you one last time and walked away. You didn't cry. I did. I don't think you realized what was going on. If you had, I doubt I could have gone through with it, but I had to save you from people who don't understand. It's not anything you did, Scotty. Never think that. You're a very special boy. Be safe, well and happy. I hope one day you'll understand. All my love, Mommy.

Scott's mouth dropped open as he read this. He looked toward his mother, but she was facing the other way at the far end of the apartment as she ironed. He leafed through a few more pages: Dear Scotty, Our first Christmas apart. I couldn't bear to celebrate without you. I long to hold you in my arms again, hear your sweet voice... Dear Scotty, It's Mother's Day. I pray you're with another mother who loves you and cares for you as much as I do. I know you must bring her joy... Dear Scott-Scott, Today is your fourth birthday. Happy birthday, my baby. I think of you and miss you every day...

Scott smiled. "Scott-Scott," he repeated aloud. "Dad used to call me that too."

"Really?" Jenny asked incredulously.

"Yeah. At first he thought my name was Scott-Scott-hayden."

"Oh." That sounded familiar. Now "Jenny-hayden" was Paul's pet name for her.

Scott continued reading: Dear Scotty, Now you're five, a big boy almost ready for kindergarten. I was thinking this afternoon about how you and Uncle Craig used to play when we were in Madison, showing off your muscles, begging him to lift you high in the air so you could be taller than the whole world. Little S-Man, he called you...

"Who's Uncle Craig?" he asked.

"Scott's best friend from high school," Jenny told him. "They played football together." Craig was one of several surrogate fathers during the brief period Scott Jr. was with her before they finally had to flee Wisconsin once and for all. Craig knew how long she and Scott had tried to have kids and he could count, but he never questioned or contradicted her when she insisted, "He is Scott's child, Craig." He heard the rumors of course: "Jenny's completely wacko. She says she did it with some space alien in Scott's body. She must have been on a bad trip that night..." but like a true friend, he kept his mouth shut and treated Scotty with the respect and affection a buddy's son deserved. Jenny still mourned all the connections broken-- the Geffners, Haydens and friends like Craig closing ranks around her and her little boy. It wasn't enough to stop George Fox-- nothing was. She'd missed her own parents' funerals while in hiding, family weddings, the births of Scott Sr.'s nieces and nephews, all the milestones. Had she been able to raise Scott Jr. in peace with the support of loved ones, it almost would have made up for the aching loss of the Starman. But Fox was never happy, so he couldn't allow anyone else to be.

Dear Scotty, Grim news in the mail today. Your Grandma Geffner's gone. I don't believe it. A blood vessel burst in her head. One minute she was there talking to Mrs. Healey next door about her roses, and now she's not. Uncle Wayne went home alone to settle her affairs and pack up the house where he and I grew up. I miss her so bad. She's in heaven now with Grandpa and with your daddy Scott. He must be so proud to know he has a little boy as smart and good as you. I look up at the stars at night and think of them and of your other daddy. They're all our guardian angels now, watching over us and keeping us safe though they can't be with us anymore. I can't be with you now either, but I'll always be your mommy...

Scott turned the page quickly, not ready to deal with the raw emotions it communicated or the unexpected intensity of his own visceral reaction. He skipped ahead. There were many entries, frequent in the beginning, fewer as the years went on, but always on his birthday and other important dates, all with variations of "My darling Scott," and "Love always, Mom." Far into the book, the word "Arizona" caught his eye. Dear Scott, I always hoped but never really thought I'd ever see you again. Yesterday I did, at last, for a moment that was far too short. I can't describe the pride I felt seeing you from the cliff with Paul-- your father-- holding each other, and the heartbreak of watching both of you being captured like drugged animals and knowing I could do nothing to stop it. I'm so sorry things still have to be like this, but now I believe it won't be forever. Please be patient and strong, Scott, and help your dad as we wait for the day when it's safe for me to join you. I don't know when that will come, but until then, know that you and Paul are always in my heart. Love, Mom.

"Mom, how did you ever hide this thing from the FSA all these years?" Scott asked.

"It wasn't easy," Jenny admitted. "Once Wylie saw it in a raid and I told him it was my recipe book. Another time, they took it and a few months later Wayne and Phyllis got it in the mail in an unmarked wrapper. We still have no idea who sent it. If Fox actually read it, he was probably bored to death. There's not much in there he could use."

"Thanks for showing it to me, Mom," Scott said quietly.

"It was always meant for you," Jenny told him.

"Do you have pictures or anything?"

"Of you?" she asked.

"Me or anybody--"

Jenny shook her head apologetically. "Very few. I left some things with your grandparents for safekeeping eons ago, but your baby book and a lot of the photo albums are--" She made a "gone" gesture with her hands. With each new place, more of that past had slipped away, seized by the enemy or reluctantly left behind as she took the clothes on her back and whatever else she could carry.

Seeing his disappointment, she went over, rummaged in a drawer and brought out what she had. "That's Scott and me on our honeymoon. We met at the skating rink. I had this tight outfit on and he was staring at me--" She stopped short. Her adolescent son didn't need to know that.

"The house painter from Wisconsin," Scott said.

"That's how he made his living, but he was so much more than that," Jenny told him. "He liked working with his hands-- wanted to start his own company someday. He was very athletic, played the guitar-- a really good guy. The church was overflowing at his funeral." She paused. "He was the one who found the Mustang."

Scott smiled at this bit of information. "He looks like the guy in 'Jagged Edge'."

Jenny hadn't seen that movie. "He was handsome. I see a lot of him in you except he was blond."

"Well, I guess I'd look like him and not Paul Forrester," Scott conceded. "Kinda weird though."

"They're both your fathers, Scott," Jenny said. "Your dad has always said so. You're his child, but you're also Scott's and my child."

She showed him two more pictures. "You and your proud grandmas on your first birthday-- with your fingers in the cake. And playing on the grass with Grandpa Hayden. You must have been seven months or so." She smiled with affection at the memory. The same hands that gently held Scotty had also built bookcases for the cabin and the rocker where she'd first nursed the baby long ago, helped sand and paint the walls and fixed the temperamental plumbing. Those eyes had watched with pride as his son tinkered with the Mustang and had dreamed of one day showing his grandson how to handle a football as he had once taught his only son.

"How about your father?" Scott asked.

"Oh, he hated cameras. 'Go away, I tell you; get that thing out of my face.'"

"He would have loved Dad," Scott observed sarcastically.

Jenny merely rolled her eyes. "Scott, were your foster parents good to you?"

Scott looked up, not expecting the question. "Yeah, Mom, they were fine."

"Do you miss them?"

Scott thought of Papa Kent--later shortened just to Pop-- who was good for games of catch, tag or hide and seek, or just clowning around with all the kids in the neighborhood, of Mama 'leen, who patiently helped him struggle through decimals and fractions and who warned him not to scratch his chicken pox, of the set of drums they'd bought him for music lessons, though it wasn't an allowable expense under his foster care stipend. "Once in a while." he said. "They weren't you though."

"I'm sorry," Jenny said.

Now he was confused. "For what?"

"For not being there for you. For not trying harder to keep you with me."

This was making Scott uncomfortable. "Come on, Mom, don't talk like that."

"Are you really sorry we had you?"

"What? Mom, I didn't say that." Or maybe he had. "Look, all I want is a real life. With you and Dad."

"I know," Jenny said. Then more gently, "Do you think if your father wasn't an alien, I wouldn't worry about you?"

Scott shrugged. "How would I know?"

"Scott," Jenny chided. "You know."

"Mom, why are you always on my case?"

"Because that's what mothers do," Jenny said. "And fathers. At least mine, anyway. The way he carried on about Scott, thank God he didn't know about Paul until it was over."

"Yeah, fathers are really annoying," Scott agreed without a trace of irony.

"Yeah?" Jenny inquired with detached curiosity that belied amusement and relief. So Paul wasn't as perfect as Scott claimed. She wondered what the Starman had done to offend their son's delicate teenage sensibilities. Judging from Scott's disconcertingly well-developed argumentative skills, probably a lot.

"It's like one day Dad could hardly cross the street by himself and the next he was telling me what to do every five minutes," Scott complained, And all this time he'd been saying Paul could do no wrong!

Jenny decided not to remind him. Instead, she said sympathetically, "Very annoying."

o o O o o

"Come on, come on, come on-- oh, shoot," Josh groaned as the "Game Over" sign flashed on the screen. "So close."

"But not close enough," Nate grinned. He and Scott exchanged high-fives in victory.

"Double or nothing," Josh challenged. "Andy, give me a quarter."

"I'm all out," Andy said. "We'll get these guys next time."

Josh leaned against the video game machine, took out a cigarette and lit it.

"Josh, not in here, man," Andy said. "We'll get thrown out again. Go outside."

In answer, Josh took a long drag and blew rings of smoke toward the other boys.

"That's disgusting," Nate pronounced. "I need something to drink." He went off toward the snack bar and Scott followed him. "Want to split some onion rings, Shane?"

"Sure," Scott said.

"Large onion rings and a medium Sprite," Nate told the person behind the counter.

"A dollar eighty-five," she said, setting the items in front of him.

Nate passed the onion rings to Scott as he paid for his purchase, then picked up his soda.

"These are good," Scott concluded, taking a bite. "The ones at the diner are stale."

"I know," Nate said. With a devilish smile he added, "My mother would have a fit if she knew I was eating this stuff."

"Oh, yours is like that too, huh?" Scott replied. Then in a sudden moment of panic as he saw the digital display overhead, "Nate, is that clock right?"

Nate followed his gaze. "I'm not sure. Andy! What time is it?"

Andy checked his watch. "Oh, God--We're late for fifth period. We gotta get out of here, guys."

He, Nate and Scott scrambled for books and jackets as their friend calmly finished his cigarette.

"Josh, come on--" Nate said.

"No biggie," Josh replied. "Hatfield's got a sub today. Nothing's going on and she doesn't know the difference."

"Well, maybe not, but if Shane and I don't show up for English, Nate's dad is gonna come looking for us and we'll all be in trouble." Andy told him. "Especially if he catches you smoking. Let's go--"

o o O o o

"Hi, Scott," Jenny called as he opened the door.

"Hi," he returned. "I didn't expect you to be home."

"I got lucky today," she said. "How was school?"

In answer, Scott asked, "Is there anything to eat? I'm starving."

"Dori's chocolate chip Bundt cake that she insisted I try," Jenny told him. "It's good. Go easy on it though. I'm making chili for dinner."

"Great," Scott said. He headed straight for the cake plate on the counter, cut a large hunk, and began to eat it standing up. "Oh-- I can't go to school for half of next week."

"Why not?" Jenny asked.

"Some accrediting review. A bunch of big shots from Harrisburg, Washington or wherever will be all over the place for three days. Not great for staying low profile."

"Good thinking," Jenny agreed.

"Just give me a note that says I had cholera or something."

"Lucky you," his mother responded sardonically. "You know, it's been so busy, we haven't really had a chance to spend time together. If the weather's nice, why don't we drive to the mountains one of those days? We'll take a picnic, hike a little--"

"NO!" Scott interrupted emphatically.

Jenny was surprised at his vehemence. "Why not?" She'd thought he'd enjoy the outing.

"I do that with Dad," he informed her bluntly.

"Oh, Scott--" She'd meant well; she really had. She felt a stab of jealousy and immediately castigated herself: Get it together, Jenny. Don't do this to yourself. This wasn't a competition like when she and Wayne were kids. Surely she and Scott could find something to do that was theirs alone.

Her son, however, merely walked away.

"Scott-- Scotty," she pleaded.

There was no answer. Here we go again, she sighed. She braced herself and went to him. He lay on his bed with his face to the wall.

"Scott, not for a minute would I intentionally take away those things you share with your dad," she said. "Those things are special."

No response.

"He'll be back, Scotty. He will." She said it as much for herself as for him, as if that alone would make it so.

He pulled away from her touch. "You wouldn't understand, Mom."

"Try me," Jenny said.

He rolled over. "I asked Zoe out today. She said no."

"I'm sorry, baby. You really liked her, huh?"

"I thought I did," Scott said, "but she 'just wants to be friends.' I'm never going to have anyone, am I?"

"Well, sure you are," Jenny said cheerily. "You're bright, you're funny, you care a lot about other people-- One day some girl is going to be very lucky to have you."

"I had a girlfriend once," Scott told her. "Her name was Kelly Jordan. Then we had to leave before I could explain.

Oh, that, Jenny thought. Why did reality always have to intrude? Life was complicated enough without the FSA. She chose her words carefully, "You know, Scott, you can be friends with a girl without her being your girlfriend."

"Yeah, that's what they tell us in Fam Arts--"

"What's that?" Jenny asked.

"Family something-or-other Arts," Scott explained. "It's a required course. They talk about drinking, drugs, guys and girls, stuff like that. Basically, be a monk until forty."

"Oh," Jenny said skeptically, wondering what to make of the euphemism. They taught this stuff in a course? "No, that's not what I mean. Sometimes in order to really love somebody, you have to know how to be friends with them first, the way you are with guys--not just to think, 'Well, she's a good looking girl' because that gets old real fast. Scott and I loved each other to pieces, but without being able to turn up the music real loud, or hike or shoot pool or pig out together, we'd never have had the patience for all the stupid stuff married people do like argue over what color to paint the kitchen. Love grows from little things like that."

"It can't have been that way with you and Dad though," Scott pointed out. "With only three days, you must have felt something right away."

"Not really," Jenny said, hating to burst his bubble. "Actually, he scared the hell out of me for most of it, but I felt sorry for him too. Eventually I started to realize how special he was, but true love didn't come until he was gone."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder?" Scott smirked.

"Sometimes," she said. "After Scott died, I was devastated. We'd only been married a few years and never got a chance to do a lot of things we planned. Then fate brought me your father. He taught me things I never even dreamed of, and he gave me you. When he left and when I had to give you up, I thought I'd never see either of you again, but here we are. So maybe you won't go out with Zoe now. But if you learn from her as a friend, you never know who or what might come along later."

"After Dad left--" Scott began, "was there anybody?"

Jenny was quiet for a minute. Occasionally there had been overtures, temptations, close calls that might have been had she not pushed them away in the years she called the endless night. She'd been afraid: of getting too close, of getting caught, of being hurt, of being unfaithful. "There were times I thought of it, yes," she admitted. "But I wanted your dad and now I know that he wants us to be a family too. He told me so in Saguaro and again last month. If he-- the Algeiban part of him, not necessarily Paul Forrester-- is alive and anywhere in this galaxy, he's not willingly away from us, so we won't stop hoping and looking until we find him."

She rose from the edge of his bed. "Meanwhile, you have a job to do."

Scott groaned. "You never let up, do you Mom? Why don't you do it?"

"Because I can't work a sphere," Jenny said. "The stove is on the fritz again so unless you want cold soup, I suggest you come fix it."

o o O o o

"No passport records?" Fox exclaimed. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said, George," Ted Jarvis told him from the other end of the line. "I followed up on the information you had Edna give me and there's no record of a valid passport for Scott Hayden Jr. That doesn't mean he couldn't have gotten out of the country somehow, but if he did, he's definitely not with Liz Baynes. No one on her last four assignments has seen her with a kid and she's been home a while now."

"How difficult can it be to find a sixteen year old boy?" Fox yelled.

"Look, George, that's your job, not mine," Jarvis told him. "I'm just doing you a favor since you're out in the field and don't have access to everything right now."

"You're right; I apologize for raising my voice," Fox said mildly. "Well, if the boy is still stateside, I guess I'll run a check of every high school in the country."

"That's quite a project George," Jarvis commented.

"This way I have to find him eventually," Fox said.

"What are the chances of a teenage boy who's alone putting himself in school?" Jarvis asked. "You said even when he was with Forrester he didn't go half the time."

"You have a point," Fox conceded.

"Well, I'm not going to tell you how to run your investigation," Jarvis concluded. "If you have the time and money-- Anyway, good luck."

"Yeah, thanks," Fox said. He was back to square one.

o o O o o

Scott was vaguely aware of a hand on his chest. "Scott, rise and shine, kiddo."

He groaned. "Mom-- I'm supposed to be sick today."

"Just because you get to ditch school for three days doesn't mean you get to sleep the whole time," Jenny said. "It's twenty after nine already. The attendance person called a little while ago to see where you were."

"What did you say?" Scott asked.

"That you have the flu," Jenny said. "But you don't, so we're going out."

"Where?" Scott rubbed his eyes.

"To do errands and buy you new clothes--"

"My clothes are fine," Scott said.

"Your shirts are faded and will be too short soon." Jenny said. "Better get them now while we've got the money."

"Can I have the cool purple and blue one you had the other day at the store?"

"I'll check tonight for your size," Jenny told him. "I can't take you in there now. You're supposed to be contagious."

"True," Scott conceded. "What do we do then?"

"Whatever you want," Jenny said.

"I don't know."

"Well, how about the museum?"

Scott grimaced. "Only if it's your or Dad's stuff."

"No, not paintings. Industrial stuff-- textiles, inventions--"

"Yeah, okay, I guess."

"Would you rather do something else?"

"Go back to bed," he said. "I think I feel a chill coming on."

"Of course you do, wearing this flimsy thing when it's forty two degrees outside," Jenny retorted, playfully tugging at the collar of his T-shirt. "Let's get some food into you. You're cranky when you're hungry."

"Can I have hot chocolate?" he asked.

"Yes," Jenny said, shaking her head in wonder. "Scott, you haven't changed a bit."

o o O o o

"So what was this, 'Friday the 13th, Part 20?'" Jenny asked as she and Scott came out of the movie theatre.

"Part 8," Scott corrected. "Did you like it?"

Jenny paused. "Well, let's just say I don't understand the appeal of blood and guts."

"It's a guy thing, Mom," Scott explained. "I don't want to go to a movie to think or get all emotional. I just want to zone out for a couple hours. I mean, I wasn't going to watch 'Driving Miss Daisy.'"

"I didn't think you would," Jenny said. "But to make essentially the same movie eight times? Don't you have enough violence to think about in real life?"

"Well, it's a lot of pressure being kind to kids and old ladies and animals all the time," Scott pointed out. "I don't know how Dad does it."

"Oh, so you're working out your anti-FSA fantasies by watching some guy in a hockey mask hacking people to bits?" his mother laughed. "I said we'd do what you wanted, but I would have picked 'Back to the Future II.'"

"I don't go to science fiction movies anymore," Scott told her.

"Why not?" Jenny asked.

"Because Dad's next to me the whole time whispering, 'Why are they doing that? It's scientifically impossible! It's insulting! It's ludicrous!'"

Jenny shook her head in wistful affection, "He'll never understand us, will he? We'll just go instead."

"Thanks, Mom, but it's not the same," Scott said.

"I know," she said. "I meant what I said before. I'm not trying to make it be."

"Let's not talk about it now, okay?" he said curtly. He wasn't in the mood for touchy-feely stuff again.

Jenny backed off, lamenting another moment ruined when Scott said suddenly, "Mom, can we go for pizza?"

"If you're paying," she shot back teasingly. "I'm tapped out after your clothes and the movie, so it's about time you pulled your weight, kiddo."

"Uh-- I'll check my wallet," Scott said, trying not to let her see him smile. He couldn't resist ribbing her back. "Now, do you actually have the car keys or did you lock yourself out again?"

Jenny brandished her key ring in evidence. "How did you get such a mouth?"

"Not from Dad, obviously," Scott deadpanned.

"The best and worst quality in the Geffner gene pool," Jenny confessed. "It gets us into trouble far too often, but it also comes in handy for getting us out."

She opened the passenger door for him. "By the way, I like olives on my pizza."

o o O o o

"Got it?" Jenny asked, handing Scott the mail as they came in loaded down by several shopping bags. Scott reached for the pile and winced as an advertising insert with picture of a missing child fell out. "I'm always afraid I'm going to see myself one day,"

"Those poor children," Jenny said. "Those poor parents."

"What's this?" he asked, plucking an unmarked envelope addressed to Margaret out of the assortment of junk and bills. He glanced at the postmark, but it was unfamiliar.

Jenny took it from him. "Oh, that's Wayne. He always mails things from out of the way job sites."

She tore open the envelope to reveal a money order folded inside a small, blank sheet of paper. She knew from the unusual amount that it was her cut from Lainie's gallery in Saguaro. "Karen Isely sold a painting!" she said, showing Scott the money order.

He grinned broadly. "Good going, Mom. We can almost buy my Mustang now."

"Will you stop with the Mustang already?" Jenny said. "You know the rent is due." Then, more reflectively, "Someday if there's anything left over, I'd like to put it away for a house and for you to go to college."

"A house?" Scott repeated. "College? Who's fantasizing now, Mom?"

"Someday when George Fox is dead and gone, this will all be over, Scotty. You, Paul and I will be able to stop running and be together."

"Yeah, when will that be, when I'm fifty?" Scott asked.

"I don't know," Jenny told him honestly.

"That would look funny with you and me all gray and Dad in some new twenty-year-old body, wouldn't it?" he commented.

Jenny laughed. "Very."

"So how's Wayne?" he inquired now.

"I don't know; there's no note," she said. "Your uncle's a man of few words-- just don't ask him about politics."

"Did he ever find Jimmy?" Scott asked. "You know about him, don't you?"

Jenny nodded. "He's trying, but it's been so many years and so much has happened."

"It would be kinda cool to have a cousin," Scott said. "Well, it would be kinda cool to have lots of things. Mom, do you really think it'll be over someday?"

"I hope with all my heart, Scotty." Jenny said. "Without that hope I couldn't survive." Then, "Go try on your new clothes and show me."

Scott disappeared into his room for a few minutes, then emerged. "Well?"

"You look good," his mother complimented him. "Do you think Wayne and Phyllis would like to see a picture?"

Scott considered this. "Too risky. Besides, Dad's out of film."

o o O o o

"The latest data went out this morning, General," Fox explained. "It's quite comprehensive. I think you'll be pleased."

"Excellent; it's about time," General Wade's voice came over the line. "The preliminary material looks good, Fox, so I expect you can wrap this up in about a week."

"Uh," Fox stopped short. To buy time he said, "I'm sorry, sir, we must have a bad connection. What was that?"

"Now that you've located the boy as well, I suppose you'll need time to settle things in the field and we'll see you and your men back in Washington by Tuesday."

"The boy?" Fox asked. Did I say 'located'? he searched his memory desperately. 'Closing in imminently,' yes, but 'located'? Does that mean 'located'?

"We'll make arrangements to transfer the prisoners as soon as I complete my full review. Your job is almost done. Fox. Congratulations." the General praised him.

Oh, God, he really means 'located,' Fox realized. "Well, General, sir, actually--"

"I admit, Fox, for years we've all thought this alien business was flaky to say the least, but it seems we underestimated you. I have to respect your tenacity."

How can I tell him the truth now? He's being nice for the first time in eighteen years. Fox agonized. Then, almost immediately, his instincts took over: Lie, damn it! Go along with it. We can always stall for time later. "Thank you, General. Thank you very much for your faith in me. My men and I are proud to be of service—"

He knew he was babbling now and had better quit while he was ahead. "If you'll excuse me, General, I have a conference scheduled with Dr. Tomasheff and one doesn't keep a scientist of his stature waiting."

"Certainly, Fox, go ahead," the General assured him. "I'll hear from you tomorrow?"

"By all means, sir. Goodbye." Fox finished, hanging up as quickly as it was polite to do so. He wandered dazedly into the other room and collided bodily with Casey, who had come to ask if it was all right to let the alien have the extra toothpaste it was asking for. "What are you doing here?"

"Mr. Fox, the alien wants—"

"Never mind the alien. Find the boy. Yesterday!"

o o O o o

"Good morning," Scott said brightly as his mother entered the kitchen.

"Morning--" She smiled, surprised to see him at the stove.

"Coffee in a minute," he said.

"Good," Jenny said, sinking into a chair. She needed at least two cups to get started.

"Also pancakes," he announced.

"I didn't know you could cook," Jenny commented.

"Mostly just pancakes," Scott told her. "Stella, Paul Forrester's mother, taught me. I didn't know her long enough to learn anything else."

"My mother, may she rest in peace, could barely boil water to save her life," Jenny recalled with a laugh. "So when I got married, neither could I. Scott was a big, strapping, meat and potatoes guy and the first time his mother and sisters came over, they just looked at each other as if to say, 'These two are in trouble.' But Grandma Hayden, the model of tact, just murmured, 'I can see we have work to do, dear.' Everything I know about food comes from her."

"You're good at it now, Mom," Scott complimented her.

"Thanks. I like doing it." She smiled a bit wistfully. "She was a gem, your grandmother. I know you don't think of Scott as your father, but it didn't matter at all to his family. Any of them would give their right arm for you or me. You must have been about two when we visited once. I put you down for a nap and sneaked out for coffee with a girlfriend. Then Fox rang the bell. 'Mrs. Hayden, I'm--' 'I know who you are, Mr. Fox.' 'I need to see your daughter-in-law.' 'She's not here.' 'We saw her car pull in late last night.' 'You must be mistaken. Jenny and Scott Jr. are in uh-- Alaska.' You were just getting over a cold and she was terrified you'd wake up and start coughing or calling for her. 'Then why is it you have crayons and blocks all over your carpet?' 'Those belong to my other grandchildren.' She didn't have any then. 'If you'll excuse me, Mr. Fox, my Dutch apple pie is burning. Goodbye.' I can just see her shutting the door in his face, so unruffled that he had no idea what hit him."

"Dutch apple pie?" Scott laughed.

"Why do you think Paul loves it so much? He was in Scott's body first and it's genetically programmed in Hayden blood. The one in the diner was good, but Grandma's was better. We never got to eat any that time though. As soon as she told me what happened, I packed you up and we left before Grandpa even got home from work."

"Mom, will you teach me how to cook?" Scott asked suddenly.

Jenny was pleasantly surprised to be asked. "Sure. I don't do the fancy stuff anymore. I'm out of practice being alone and on the run for so long."

"That's okay," Scott said. "Anything beats pineapple pepperoni pizza, pastrami and mayonnaise or sphere-heated spaghetti from a can."

Jenny grimaced. "That's how you eat when you're with your dad?"

"Only in a pinch," he assured her. "Haven't you ever had weird stuff before?"

"Oh, yeah," Jenny said. "Much worse."

"Like what?" Scott asked.

"Well, once Fox wouldn't let me eat for two days and Wylie felt sorry for me so he slipped me leftover Mallomars and beer."

"Oh, lethal!" Scott exclaimed.

"I truly believe he meant well," Jenny said. "He was just being--Wylie-- but if they'd wanted to poison me, that was a good way."

"I'll have to remember that the next time I need to escape," Scott said sardonically.

"Scott Hayden Jr.--" Jenny began in an admonishing tone.

"Yeah, yeah, we're peaceful things--" he sighed.

"I'm not," she said quietly.

"What?" He looked up to see a mischievous glint in her eyes that told him she wasn't really scolding. "All right, Mom!" he exclaimed with new respect. "Let's see, how else can we get rid of Fox?"

"God forgive me," Jenny sighed. "Your father spends three years teaching you to be a good Algeiban and I corrupt you in two minutes."

o o O o o

 

Fox opened the office door and slipped in without even turning on the light. Crossing to the phone, he picked up the receiver, got an outside line and dialed.

"You have reached voice mailbox number six eight seven three," a disembodied computer voice informed him. "Please enter your security code now."

Fox punched the appropriate keys.

"Thank you. Please leave your message at the beep."

"General, this is Agent Fox," Fox spoke quietly into the phone. "I apologize for the late hour but I felt it necessary to inform you immediately. Regretfully, the boy gave us the slip about forty minutes ago. Apparently, he climbed out the men's room window while Agent Casey was unavoidably distracted. Two of us gave chase, but we were unable to catch up to him. We were also concerned that too much commotion would alarm the alien and cause him to try to leave as well. We'll continue to monitor the situation through the night. I know this setback is a disappointment, General, but I assure you, it's only temporary. I'll speak to you later."

"Message complete," the recording announced. "Message received on Thursday at 3:12 a.m. To send your message, press one or simply hang up, to mark it urgent, press two. To review--"

Fox simply hung up.

 

o o O o o

It had been storming out for much of the evening. After dinner, Scott had gone off to study while Jenny tried to make sense of the bills. She had the radio tuned to a Rolling Stones retrospective when suddenly there was a loud clap of thunder. The Stones trailed off in mid-note and the lights went out.

"Scott?" she called.

"Mom?" he responded, each checking to see if the other was all right.

She heard him get up and start to walk through the darkened room. "Be careful."

"I'm cool, Mom," he assured her. Then she saw his sphere glowing in his open palm lighting his way. "But you need a flashlight, don't you? Do you have one?"

"In the drawer, I think," she said.

He found it and brought it to her.

"Thank you," she said. "Is it just us or the whole building?"

Scott craned his neck to look out the window. "Looks like the whole block. The storm probably blew out the transformer for this side of town-- whoa, that was a big one," he exclaimed as thunder again crashed loudly twice in succession. "Somebody must be having a war up there."

"No Algeibans, I hope," Jenny smiled.

"Yeah," Scott sighed. "What kind of name is Algeiba anyway? It reminds me of math homework."

Jenny laughed. "Well, that's only what we lower life forms call it."

"Who's we, Mom?" Scott asked.

"Excuse me, my Starchild, I stand corrected," she said Then, mock-sternly, "Didn't anybody ever tell you not to be fresh to your mother?"

"I don't know. I never had a mother," he responded with a straight face.

"You always had a mother," she said.

They listened to the rain come pouring down against the windows. "Too bad you're missing the Stones, Mom." Scott said sympathetically.

"Forget them," Jenny said.

"Well, I can't do my chem. homework," he realized suddenly. "Maybe they'll close school tomorrow."

"Don't count on it," Jenny warned. "I hope I can get to work though. The roads will be flooded for sure and I hate driving in the rain." She winced at more thunder.

Scott reached out to touch her arm. "Don't be scared, Mom."

That one small gesture triggered a long-buried emotion that touched her heart. This young man next to her was the Scotty she'd left behind, who with three-year-old earnestness had implored, "Don't cry, Mommy. I'll take care of you." The memory had been bittersweet in his absence, but he was here again.

She gave him a small smile. "Scotty, there are plenty of other things in this world to be scared of. It's only rain and we're inside, aren't we?"

"Do you think Dad is?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know, but Dad can take care of himself," she said. She paused. "I should have thought to get batteries for the radio, if only for the news and weather."

"Do you want me to--" Scott began.

"You mean-- can you do that with that thing-- I'm sorry, the sphere," she amended. The first time she'd seen spheres eighteen years ago, she'd called them "little gray jobs." How offended she'd be if someone said that now!

"Oh, yeah, sure," Scott said, full of teenage confidence.

"Go for it, then," Jenny said encouragingly.

Scott eagerly set to work, concentrating on the sphere until there was a steady glow, and directing the energy toward the radio, which they kept on a bracket on the wall. At first there was only static, but as Scott focused the beam, the Stones sprang to life. Carefully, he switched stations, one, two, three times until he found the 24-hour news and weather broadcast. "All right!" he exulted triumphantly. In his excitement, he broke the connection too soon, the radio halted abruptly, and one of Jenny's sculptures on the shelf underneath fell to the floor and shattered.

"Sorry, Ma," he gulped dejectedly.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "We'll clean up later. I don't want you near there in bare feet."

"Ow," he said suddenly.

"What's the matter?"

"Now I've got a cramp in my neck from looking up so long," he said, moving his head from side to side to get rid of it. If he trusted himself with the sphere, he would have used it, but one fiasco a night was enough.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Jenny asked. "Do you want me to rub it?"

"I guess so."

"Where does it hurt?" As she felt him tense up beneath her fingers, she teased, "Scotty, are you still ticklish? Scott's sister used to torment you all the time with that. 'Stop, no! Mommy, Grandma, help!' But you loved her anyway."

Scott said nothing. He could barely remember his mother then, let alone an aunt and a grandmother.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, yawning sleepily. He put down his head on the table.

She cuffed him playfully. "You look like you need to be in bed. Come on, get up. You're too big for me to carry now."

"You don't have to," he mumbled, "I'll just stay here in the dark."

"You're not afraid of it anymore?" she teased.

"Uh uh," he murmured sounding remarkably like his younger self. She almost expected him to add, "I'm a superhero. I'm not afraid of anything."

She felt very close to him at that moment, almost as if more than thirteen years of time suddenly had stood still. "Scott? How am I doing?" It was an unfair question while he was half asleep, but she was afraid of the answer any other time.

"You're all right, I guess,"

Coming from him, that was okay. "Thank you," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him good night.

o o O o o

"What's the matter?" the Starman asked, sensing a heightened tension in his young captor as Casey led him from the latest interrogation.

"Just say where your kid is so we can all get this over with." Casey said in annoyance.

"I can't," the Starman said. "I've told Fox a hundred times, I don't know. But even if I did, I can't put my son through this. He's just a boy not much younger than you. Being a prisoner, a lab specimen-- is no life for him. I miss him, but if I have to, I'll sacrifice my own comfort for him."

"Why?" Casey asked.

"Because I'm his father," the Starman said. He paused before asking delicately,

"Do you have a father, Casey? My son has a father who loves him and needs him as much as he needs his father."

Instantly, the agent's face changed. "SHUT UP!" he bellowed. "SHUT UP NOW!" His heart was pounding furiously and for a moment he thought he'd pass out.

The Starman fell silent, knowing he was getting close to the truth but what that was, he couldn't say. He waited until he sensed Casey's anger beginning to dissipate, then asked quietly, "Who taught you those words, James-casey? Your father?"

"I don't have a father," Casey blurted defensively.

"I'm sorry," the Starman said. "Scott, my son, didn't either for a long time and it was hard, but he was lucky. He had other people to love him and take care of him until I could get there."

Casey opened the door of the main room and shoved the alien roughly onto the cot.

The Starman was unfazed. "Why do you want this to be over with?"

Casey looked confused. "Don't you?"

"Not if my son and I are dead," the Starman said simply. "If we're not dead and we get to see each other again, of course, but it's not over until Fox says so, and he's pretty persistent. He's been chasing me for eighteen years."

Casey's twenty-three-year-old eyes widened in disbelief, unable to process the thought.

"Every minute my son and I have spent together is precious." the Starman said. "But it also has been spent in fear-- of this and worse. Fox is sincere. He really believes that Scott and I are dangerous. But I don't think he's very happy or that he has much of a life beyond the FSA. If he did, maybe he would understand us better."

Before the young agent had time to ponder this, the Starman returned to his original question. "Why do you want it to be over with? Don't you like this job?"

"It's a job," Casey replied vaguely. Standing hunched over, he reminded the Starman so much of Scott.

The Starman wondered what that meant. What attracted someone like Casey to a place like the FSA? The structure? The power? A father figure, twisted as Fox might be? He still couldn't figure it out.

"You seem to be a bright, young man," he continued. "I know you want to do your job well and please Fox. He's your boss and you should respect him and learn from him what you can. But there are many things and many people to learn from in this universe. Perhaps the ones in your life so far have caused you pain, but there are others, kind and loving ones who can give you the tools-"

He was losing Casey again, cutting too close to the bone, dredging up feelings the young agent didn't know he had. Casey had no idea what the alien was talking about or what to do with it. "I'm sick of your yammering!" he interrupted. "If you don't stop, I'm going to smack you again!"

"Do you like hitting me or do you just think you're supposed to?" the Starman asked.

The question hung in the air unanswered.

o o O o o

Wylie came in while Casey was securing the alien after the Starman's dinner. "Mr. Fox needs help," he said. "I'll handle things in here."

Casey nodded and slipped out.

"Hello, Wylie," the Starman greeted him brightly. "It's nice to see you again."

The alien was strange but nobody could say he wasn't polite. "Hi," Wylie replied tersely. He laid something on the bed. "Here's your jacket. Put it on."

"Are we going somewhere?" the Starman inquired.

"Yes."

"You have to take the handcuffs off or I can't put it on," the Starman reminded him.

Wylie nodded. "Turn around."

The Starman did so. Wylie couldn't help exclaiming. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" the Starman asked.

"Your neck--" The bruises looked fresh.

"I-- got hurt," the Starman said carefully, reluctant to accuse.

"Casey?" Wylie asked.

The Starman couldn't lie. "Yes."

"More than once?"

The Starman nodded.

"Does Mr. Fox know?"

"I don't know."

Wylie was torn by conflicting emotions. There was no reason for brutality. Even Fox, who hated the alien to the depths of his soul, knew an injured alien was a liability and a dead one useless since he wouldn't be able to tell them how many more of his kind to watch out for. Duty demanded that Wylie tell Fox, but he wasn't sure what Fox would do to Casey, and with the boy still missing, they needed all three men.

Opening the door and looking around to be sure nobody was watching, he took the Starman into the agents' makeshift office. Reaching into the small refrigerator, he handed the Starman a can of diet cola. "Here. There's no ice."

"Thank you, but I'm not thirsty." the Starman said.

"It's for the swelling," Wylie said. "Put it on your neck."

The Starman had heard a lot of odd things in the last three years, but never this one. Tentatively, he did as he was told. The coolness felt good against his skin, though not as good as healing blue lights. Since Wylie was being so nice, he thought of asking for his sphere, but decided against it.

"If anyone sees you, I gave it to you to drink because the water cooler's empty." Wylie instructed.

The Starman nodded.

"Come on. They're waiting in the van."

The van again. Since the Starman's capture, they'd moved him every few days for no other apparent reason than psychological torture. He'd lost all sense of time and place. Not that it mattered. Every day was more or less the same: long, silent stretches with Casey or Wylie, cryptic medical procedures, psychological tests more pointless than Katherine Bradford's, and Fox's interrogations about Scott that grew more desperate by the day.

o o O o o

"Wylie, who drank all the coffee?" Fox asked, tipping the empty thermos over its plastic cup in exasperation.

"You did, mostly, sir," Wylie replied. He wished Mr. Fox wouldn't yell while he was driving. It made him nervous.

Fox threw down the cup in resignation. "Well, get me more!"

"Yes, sir," Wylie placated him. "Next stop, sir." He wondered if all the coffee Mr. Fox went through each day had anything to do with the bad mood the senior agent was always in.

"How's it going back there?" Fox inquired.

"Fine, thank you," the Starman replied.

"Not you, Forrester," Fox retorted in disgust.

"I knew that," the Starman said. "Just trying to be sociable."

"Well, don't," Fox told him. "Casey, are you even awake?"

"Yes, Mr. Fox." Casey said.

"Stay that way," Fox barked. Then, as Wylie slowed the van to a near halt, "Why are you stopping?"

"There seems to be an obstruction, sir. An accident, maybe. See all the barricades?" Wylie pointed further up the line of stopped vehicles.

"Can't you go around?"

"I don't think so, Mr. Fox. This is a one way street. We have to wait for instructions."

"Yeah, all right," Fox said, drumming his fingers against the dashboard impatiently.

They waited perhaps ten minutes in silence before Fox had had enough, abruptly opened his door and got out, striding quickly in search of someone in charge.

Wylie and Casey remained in the van with the alien as their boss disappeared. When he didn't return, Wylie said, "If we're going to be here a while, I'd better get his coffee before he yells again."

"Good idea," Casey agreed. As Wylie exited the driver's door and dashed into a nearby deli with the thermos, Casey thought of asking him to buy cigarettes for him, but thought better of it. Wylie always wanted him to put them out. Allergies or something. But he was having a real nicotine fit. He needed one now.

Rising from his seat, he leaned over the alien and moved a cardboard box and other things on the floor to get at a flight bag underneath. He unzipped the bag and rummaged through it silently. Please let there be one left. He sighed in relief when he found the remains of a pack. Pocketing his lighter, he closed the bag and put the box and assorted junk back in place. But the Starman had seen the contents of the box already.

Casey unlocked the sliding door, jumped down from the high step and shut the door with a resounding slam. Through the window, the Starman saw the agent go around the back of the van and lean against the fender to smoke. He looked back at the box and out the opposite window. No sign of Fox or Wylie and the road block was at least a quarter mile long. It was risky, but from the looks of it, it was his only chance.

He couldn't move his body very far, but concentrating on the box, he could slide it a half inch or so toward him using his most rudimentary powers. That was enough to be able to see a tiny glint of his sphere through the flap of the box. Slowly and carefully so as not to attract Casey's attention, he freed himself, crouched low and retrieved his sphere, wallet and key chain from the mess the agents had piled carelessly on top of them. He didn't know what had happened to his watch, but that didn't matter. He felt badly for Casey, who'd be the next object of Fox's wrath, but he shook it off. Scott and Jenny needed him. It was now or never.

Next, he made the van shake for a few seconds as if the emergency brake had disengaged momentarily. It threw Casey off balance just long enough for the Starman to dive into the front seat and roll out Wylie's door. Picking himself up, he saw what looked like a railroad trestle in the distance and ran toward it. The overgrown grass and brush would hide him for now.

o o O o o

Paul walked along the road for a long time. He was exhausted and a bit overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of the outside world after his long captivity, but was afraid to risk hitching a ride. Finally, when he'd gone what he thought was two miles or so, he reached a small business district, went inside a coffee shop and called Chicago.

"Liz," he said when she picked up.

Liz knew that voice anywhere. "Paul! Oh, thank God! You're not dead--"

"No," he said with a vague feeling that they'd had this conversation before.

"We've been absolutely frantic," she went on. "I haven't stopped crying since you disappeared and Scott calls me all the time--"

"Is he all right?" Paul asked immediately.

"Yes, he's with his mother and they're fine, but they miss you terribly," Liz told him.

"Can I call them?" Paul asked.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Paul," she advised gently. "The FSA will have your escape all over the wires soon. Let me figure something out. Where are you?"

"I don't know," he replied.

Liz thought of having him read the number off the phone, then stopped herself Stupid! They were speaking freely, assuming the line wasn't tapped, but why make it so easy? "Are you near a store? Tell me what paper's in the rack. I'll hold."

Paul left the receiver hanging, exited the phone booth and walked a few steps toward the cashier where various periodicals were displayed. "The Fargo Herald," he reported when he returned.

Fargo? Liz thought, How did he get all the way there?

"How long have I been gone?" he inquired suddenly.

"Six weeks," she told him. It had been the longest six weeks of her life.

"They took my watch," he explained. "Liz, I have very little money and all my things were at home."

"Can you manage until tomorrow morning?" she asked. "I'll be able to get something to you by then."

"Yes," he said.

"Call me later today," she said as time ran out and his money dropped into the coin box. "Paul, darling, did you hear me? Call me later. I promise, everything will be all right."

"I heard you," he said, non-plussed by her sudden anxiety. He didn't recall her ever calling him 'darling' before. He wondered if she remembered which Paul Forrester he was.

o o O o o

Scott bounded for the phone in one step. He was sure it was Josh. "Hello?"

"Scott, it's Liz. I know I'm not supposed to use this number, but this is important," Liz apologized in a rush without saying hello.

"What is it?" he asked, suddenly afraid.

"Your father just called. He's safe," Liz told him.

"All right!" Scott exclaimed. "Mom! It's Liz. Dad's alive!"

Jenny came over and hugged him as he held the receiver so they could both hear Liz. "I'm working on getting him to you as quickly and safely as possible."

"Thank you, Liz," Jenny said. "How does he sound?"

"Very tired but okay," Liz reported. "He misses you both."

"Tell him we love him and we're waiting for him, please."

"I will. Can you be at the pay phone around nine tonight?"

"Mom?" Scott looked at Jenny for permission.

"Yes," she said.

"Okay, Liz," he agreed. "Catch ya later."

o o O o o

"Hi," Paul said casually as he walked into the office of the local affiliate. "I'm here to pick up something for Mike Edwards--"

"Yeah, okay," mumbled the bored reporter who'd temporarily taken over the receptionist's desk. He shuffled through one of the piles. "Messenger's here for Edwards!" he called. "Anybody know about it? Where's it coming from?" he asked Paul.

"Uh-- Chicago office, I think," Paul answered, trying to sound as clueless as the reporter. Liz had been afraid somebody would recognize him, but he doubted it. He hadn't shaved since he was taken and from the sound of things, this one wasn't too bright.

"Oh, right," the man said. "I saw it here. Yup-- Edwards." He handed Paul the express mail envelope. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Paul said.

He went outside and down the block before he opened it, withdrawing a bus ticket, cash and a note: Paul-- Sorry for the secrecy, but as we anticipated, the FSA is hot on your trail again and I need to protect you and your family. Jenny and Scott are living in Pennsylvania under assumed names. Scott is in school, has friends and is doing well. You'd be proud. They love and miss you greatly and are waiting anxiously for your return. Enclosed is $200 to buy anything you need for now. Jenny and Scott have your camera and most of your things. You'll also find a ticket from Fargo to Akron, Ohio. It's the best I could do avoiding planes. Let's hope it throws off Fox too. Russ Slater, an old friend of Paul Forrester's and mine, will meet you. I told him our secret, which he says he suspected long ago. You can trust him. He'll take you to your family. Godspeed, Liz

Paul folded the money and put it and the ticket in his pocket. Carefully, he ripped the note and envelope into small pieces and dropped them in the nearest trash can. Then he went to buy himself a clean shirt.

o o O o o

Paul stepped off the bus wrinkling his nose at the odor of the exhaust and looking around uncertainly. He was always nervous meeting people from Paul Forrester's past because he had no idea what they looked like. He didn't know how long it had been since Russ had seen the real Paul and he hoped he still resembled the original enough for Russ to recognize him.

He need not have worried. Within a few minutes, a tall man dressed casually in a turtleneck and jeans approached and said, "Paul--" It was a statement, not a question.

"Russ?" Paul inquired.

His new companion nodded and they shook hands. Then Russ got right down to business. "We can stay here awhile if you're hungry or want to stretch your legs. I have food in the car too if you'd rather. It'll be a few hours, but Liz thought you'd probably want to get where you're going as soon as possible."

"Yes," Paul agreed.

"Okay," Russ said laconically. "I'm parked over this way."

Paul followed him to the car. Russ unlocked the passenger door and held it open as Paul got in. "Let me get the seat belt for you. This one's a little weird."

He waited until Paul was secure, closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. Getting in, he reached over to adjust the heater. "I'm turning it up a little. Let me know if it gets too hot or too cold."

"It's very comfortable," Paul said.

"Ham and cheese?" Russ offered. "There's also plenty of pop, cookies and fruit."

Paul took the food. "Thank you for everything," he said.

"No problem," Russ assured him.

They drove without speaking for several minutes as Russ made his way onto the highway. Then Paul said, "Liz says she told you about my son and me."

"Yes," Russ acknowledged.

"She also said you knew Paul Forrester."

"Right. Both him and Liz for a long time. Fifteen years at least."

"Are you a photographer too?"

"Reporter," Russ said. "I was one, anyway. My folks have sixty acres an hour and a half west of here and after my stepdad died, my sisters and I thought my mom needed somebody nearby. I'd just been through a divorce and was getting tired of the rat race so I moved back here. I still freelance a bit, but it's nowhere near as hectic as Chicago."

"I suppose not," Paul said. He paused. "Why did you agree to help me, Russ?"

Russ let out a small laugh. "Because Liz asked me to and when she asks, people always say yes. It's also the right thing to do."

"Why?" the Starman asked. "Paul Forrester doesn't strike me as the kind of person for whom people did things just because he asked."

"No," Russ answered. "Paul being Paul, he thought that way, but no."

"My son and I were only with Liz a few days," the Starman told him. "We haven't seen her since. She knows I'm not the Paul Forrester who went to Mount Hawthorne, yet many times over the last three years, she's risked herself to keep us alive and safe. I've often wondered about that."

"That's Liz," Russ agreed. "If anyone needs help or is in trouble, she'll go out of her way to fix it. But with you, that's only part of it. She and Paul were lovers, you know."

"She told me," the Starman said.

"Paul went through women like everybody else goes through socks," Russ continued. "But that was just machismo and hormones. Lizzie was different."

"Lizzie?" the Starman said, "I've never heard anybody call her that before."

"Nobody but Paul was allowed to," Russ grinned. "He'd do it when he was being affectionate--or more often, when he wanted something. 'You got any cash, gorgeous?' 'No, Paul.' 'Liz-zie, pretty please? Fifty? I'll be good; I promise. Thirty even? How about twenty? I'll take twenty.' Sometimes she gave in just to shut him up. They were on again, off again for years. Every time they broke up, there would be a lot of screaming, storming out and slamming doors and they'd say it was 'really over', but sooner or later they'd drift back-- for a while. She was the only one I think Paul ever had any real feelings for, who could temper him even a little. Liz is strong as they come, just as he was, and would give it right back to him if he deserved it, but she's also sweet and giving in exactly the way he couldn't or wouldn't be. I think he respected that. And she loved him, though she knew it would never work. Domesticity just wasn't Paul, though I'm sure he must have about twenty kids somewhere or other."

At least one, the Starman thought, remembering Eric in Santa Barbara.

"It isn't Liz's thing either," Russ conceded. "As a woman journalist, she's always had to work too hard to prove herself to consider it seriously. But with Paul, she might have--" He stopped short. "Sorry. Why am I telling you this?"

"I asked you," the Starman said, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah," Russ said. "Anyway, Paul had that effect on people. He was infuriating, self-centered, pushy, irresponsible-- Editors swore up and down never to deal with him again, but then something came along and they had to have Forrester. Part of Paul was every newsman's fantasy: brilliant, suave, funny, without a care in the world, running off to Northern Ireland, Central America, the Middle East or South Africa at the drop of a hat, hanging upside-down out the back of a moving L and coming back unscathed to win his glory. Paul said and did whatever he wanted, whenever, wherever and to whomever he damn well pleased and managed to get away with things the rest of us would never even dream of. We'd sit there debating, 'Should we--?' and he'd say, 'Oh, hell, I will," and get up and do it. That Paul was fun to be around."

"Do you miss him?" the Starman asked.

Russ guided the car carefully into the next lane and thought of the last time he'd seen Paul during a freelance assignment a few months before Mount Hawthorne. He didn't tell the Starman, for the interlude was very telling in ways of which he wasn't sure he and Liz should be proud. The two of them had raced upstairs to Paul's hotel room much as Liz later told him she had at the apartment the day Paul died, and had opened the door to find him unsurprisingly inebriated: "Oh, Paul, not again! How could you do this?" "Ow-- Lizzie, don't yell; it hurts my head." "I'm not yelling. Do you realize you were supposed to be downtown two hours ago? You blow this and you're finished, Paul! Ed's had it up to here with you!" "Aw, so wha'? Who gives a flyin' freak about Ed? Hiya, Russ. Whaddya know, my man Russell's here. How're ya doin', buddy?" Reaching out to pull Russ closer, he'd promptly fallen off the couch and onto the floor. Russ had propped up Paul and calmly distracted him as Liz cleaned him up and half helped, half stuffed him into his clothes as one would a small child. It wasn't the first time either of them had fallen for this game. They knew they were enablers, but Paul's private vulnerability, in such stark contrast to his carefully cultivated public image of invincibility, cried out to be cared for and loved. Despite prodigious talents, deep down he was a lost soul searching for something Russ doubted even Paul could articulate. They hadn't been able to save him, but here was a new presence in his body that seemed far more worthy of their loyalty and protection.

"Sometimes, in spite of ourselves," Russ admitted finally. "I guess there's the answer to your first question the long way around. We know you're not him, but as long as you're alive, part of him is too."

"Even though you don't know who I am?"

Russ nodded. "Before Liz told me about you, I'd already heard things through the grapevine about how Paul changed after Mount Hawthorne-- mellowed, learned to care about people and things he never bothered to notice before and had a boy with him who called him Dad. Nobody would have ever expected it in Paul's lifetime, but when I think about it, it's not a bad legacy for him to leave."

"I take my responsibility in his body very seriously," the Starman assured him. "I hope what I do honors the memory of what was good in him for those of you who cared about him. As for the part of him that was callous and hurtful, I don't know the reason for that, but I try to live a life that allows others to forgive-- and his spirit, wherever it is, to forgive itself."

Russ sighed. "I don't know why he hurt either, Paul," he mused quietly, addressing his passenger by name for the first time since they'd gotten in the car. "But I hope he's at peace. Dying on top of an erupting volcano is a pretty awful and lonely way to go. He was supposed to be in Managua with Liz. She says she told him not to go to Mount Hawthorne, but of course he didn't listen. I've never met a more obstinate person in my life."

"He died doing what he loved," the Starman reminded him. "Every newsman's fantasy."

"I did say that, didn't I?" Russ smiled. "So, Paul, tell me about yourself."

"My son's name is Scott-- Scott Hayden," Paul began. "He's sixteen, almost seventeen. His mother's name is Jenny. She's from Wisconsin and is very beautiful. I come from a star-- a little, but very bright one up there. You on Earth know it as Algeiba, but that's not the name we call it--"

o o O o o

"We should be there in another twenty minutes or so," Russ informed Paul. "Your family's meeting us at a truck stop near the exit. Liz thought it was better that no one see the car where they live in case--"

"I understand," Paul said.

"Excited?" Russ asked.

"Yes." Paul smiled.

"Then let's get the show on the road," Russ returned his grin.

It had been raining for the last hour of their journey. Paul almost had been lulled to sleep by the monotonous, rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers, but now that he knew they were close, he was wide awake. When they finally pulled into the parking lot, he scanned the faces until he spotted Jenny.

"Over there," he directed Russ.

Russ swung the car around, found a space nearby and turned off the ignition. Paul unlatched his seat belt, opened the door and got out.

"Dad!" Scott shouted, running up and throwing his arms around Paul.

Paul pulled his son to him and smoothed back the boy's hair, which was damp from standing in the rain. "That wasn't very friendly, Scott," he admonished.

"What? Oh, sorry, hello," Scott added as his father pointedly indicated Russ with a jerk of his head.

"This is Scott," Paul introduced him. "And this is Jenny." He beckoned her closer and put one arm around her. "This is Russ Slater. He's a friend of Liz and Paul Forrester's. And now he's a friend of mine."

"We're very grateful to you and Liz for bringing Paul back to us, Russ," Jenny said.

"I'm just the driver," Russ told her self-effacingly.

"You must be tired. Can we buy you some coffee and sit inside for a few minutes?"

"Thank you, but I need to get back and I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do. It's a pleasure meeting you all." He grasped Paul's hand to shake. "Paul, if you ever need anything, just ask. I'm in the book."

"Thank you, Russ. Goodbye," Paul said.

They watched him drive away then Paul turned to hug Jenny.

"Oh, Paul, we've been so worried. Are you all right? Did something terrible happen to you?" she asked.

"I'm fine now," he said, sparing her the details, "I missed you though." To Scott, he added, "Liz says you're doing well in school and I'd be proud, so I guess I am."

"Thanks, Dad," Scott said. "I'll do even better now that you're home to help me."

"You're taller," Paul observed.

"Maybe." Scott shrugged.

"He needs a haircut," Jenny said. Then, noticing the face she was holding bore a striking resemblance to photographs of Paul Forrester in his Santa Barbara Twelve days, "So do you."

"Mom, will you lay off? Dad just got here."

"Scott," Paul said evenly, "don't be rude to your mother."

Scott sighed. His father was definitely back.

o o O o o

"Scott, go dry your hair before you catch pneumonia," Jenny said as they walked in the door.

"Mom, nobody gets pneumonia from that," he started to argue. Then, more tentatively, "Do they?"

"Well, you'll find out if you don't listen," Jenny threatened mock-sternly. "Go, before I do it for you. I don't care how old you are. That's the last thing we need now."

Scott obeyed. As he grabbed a towel from the rack in the bathroom, a distant memory drifted into his consciousness: himself as a little boy squirming mischievously as somebody tried to get him into pajamas after a bath. Was it Jenny? Eileen Lockhart? Or just his imagination? "Come on, baby. Scott Jr., stop being silly--" The Lockharts wouldn't have called him Scott Jr., but Jenny did when she was being stern.

"Scott?" Paul said, seeing his son's pensive look.

"Did I have a big towel with red and blue-- balloons or something?" Scott asked his mother. "I remember-- I think I remember standing by a wall that had bricks in it and the carpet was really thick and soft--"

"Yes," Jenny confirmed quietly. The towel in question, long gone, was actually rather small, but she supposed it would seem huge to a three-year-old. "That was the last place we lived before I had to give you up."

Scott took it all in with an emotion he couldn't name. Even after six weeks with Jenny, reading her letters, seeing the pictures, something had been missing until this moment. Intellectually he'd accepted that she was his mother, emotionally he'd begun to regard her as such, but now he knew. That one small snippet of memory connected past and present at last. "You really are my mom," he blurted finally.

"Of course I am," she said matter-of-factly, running her fingers through his hair in a gesture that was half affection, half maternal suspicion. "Who else would put up with you?"

He didn't answer.

She looked at him closely and asked in mild surprise, "Are you crying?"

"No," he said but there was a catch in his voice that told her he was. "I'm sorry."

"For what, baby?"

"I don't know." For bawling like a two-year-old. For not finding her sooner. For giving her such a hard time. Weeks, months, years of pent-up, tangled emotions released themselves. He didn't want to be a strong, macho teenager anymore, the heir to the Algeiban legacy. He just wanted to be three, four, eight, twelve again and relive all the stages he'd missed with his mom and dad. Of all the Lockharts' foster children over the years, Scott had stayed the longest and thus had occupied a special place in their hearts. They were the parents he'd known best, but to the end of their lives, they'd never been Mom and Dad. Since Kent and Eileen always spoke simply of "our children," strangers naturally assumed the kids were Lockharts, but Scott had been quick to correct, "Scott Hayden" long after any memory of what that meant had faded. Used to various father figures in his life with Jenny, he'd bonded quickly to Kent. It had taken longer with Eileen, who'd endured long bouts of kicking, screaming, hair-pulling tantrums: "No, no! You're not my Mommy!" In that cry, the pain of being abandoned merged with a child's magical impulse to will this woman back.

Jenny pulled him to her and stroked his head. "Shh, Scotty, it's all right."

"I don't want it to stop, Mom-- I don't want it to stop." He was sobbing uncontrollably now, the first time she'd seen him do so since he was a very little boy.

Paul was unnerved. "Tell us what's wrong so we can help you, Scott," he pleaded.

Jenny signaled him to be patient. Scott was already on emotional overload, trembling in her arms. "What do you mean, baby?" she asked as gently as she could.

"Us being together," he managed between gasps. "I don't want it to stop," Though it had taken fourteen years, his unwitting wishes upon stars and a silver sphere had come true. He'd thought the day he'd met his dad that he was old enough to know the difference between fact and fantasy, but considering that even that "truth" had now been blurred, he was deathly afraid it would all disappear at midnight or something like that.

Jenny couldn't promise that it wouldn't and he knew it. All they could do was concentrate on now. "We're together now, Scott. I'm here. Dad's here. It's all right."

Paul came over and encircled them both in his arms. For once, there was no need for blue lights to hold each other.

o o O o o

"I don't understand," Scott said. "Why can't you just be my dad?"

"Do I look like a military type?" Paul asked, staring directly into his son's face to prove his point.

"Well, no," Scott admitted. "But if you say you're Paul Forrester, they'll be on to you in a minute."

"Scott," his father reminded him patiently. "I am Paul Forrester now."

"Frankly, I don't think this place is sophisticated enough to know about him," Jenny said. "He could be your godfather, Scott. I mean Shane's. A friend of David's from Vietnam."

"I don't think Paul Forrester was very godly," Scott said skeptically.

"Godfather?" Paul repeated. "Isn't that a really violent movie about--"

"Later," Jenny and Scott cut him off simultaneously.

"Maybe he should be David," Jenny reconsidered. "Paul, do you think you can?"

"What is a military type?" Paul inquired now.

"Like Wayne," Jenny said. "More or less."

"Oh." Paul pondered this. "He doesn't like me."

"Yes, he does," Jenny assured him. "He just doesn't show it well."

"Why would he hide something he feels?"

Mother and son looked at each other. They should have known that the most honest, open being on Earth would never understand what drove a person like Jenny's brother.

"Forget it, Mom," Scott sighed. "He can't do it. He just has to be himself."

"What's your new name again?" Paul asked Scott.

"Shane Paul Colby," Scott pronounced with a practiced air.

A smile began forming at the corners of Paul's mouth. "You're using my name?"

"Sort of, yeah," Scott smiled.

"He's had Scott's and mine for sixteen years, so he might as well," Jenny explained. "I wouldn't make a point of it though. If a career officer really named his kid after Paul Forrester, Wayne would have a stroke."

"Mom--" Scott reminded her, seeing his father's stricken face and realizing Paul was taking her literally again. "It's okay, Dad, she doesn't mean really."

o o O o o

"It's time for bed, Scott," Jenny told him.

He stared at her. She'd really lost it now. "What, you're telling me what my bedtime is now?" He'd never cry in front of them again.

"Sort of," Paul said pointedly.

"Oh, I get it," Scott said. "You two want to be alone, right? Why didn't you just say so?" He rose. "G'night, Mom."

"Sleep well," she said.

"'Night, Dad," Scott added. "I'm glad you're home."

"Me too," Paul said. "See you in the morning."

When Scott had left the room, Paul said, "Our son's grown into a fine young man."

"Yes he has," Jenny said.

He sensed something unspoken. "Jenny, what is it?"

"It doesn't matter. Let's just say we're both more relaxed now that you're here. It's been rough sometimes."

"Between you and Scott?" Paul clarified.

Jenny nodded. "It's better now."

"I can see that," he said. He held her, stroking her arm slowly. "When I first came back to Earth, I didn't know anything about being a father. Scott didn't like me very much and for a long time, I was planning to leave as soon as we found you. It was slow, but we did learn to trust each other and I to trust myself with him. You know, it takes a long time to raise a child-- about twenty one years, and you've already missed fourteen of them. But you do your best and take your chances."

Jenny laughed, recognizing a certain inflection in Paul's voice when he was repeating something he'd heard. "Who said that to you?"

"Liz," he replied, smiling at the memory. "She's a wise person, Liz-baynes."

"When I gave Scott up, I thought he'd be better off without me," Jenny told him.

"And now?" Paul pressed gently.

Twisting the edge of a woolen throw in her hands, she said slowly, "I'm grateful to the people who took care of him when you and I couldn't. Because of them, he had many precious years to grow in safety. I also hoped he'd know you someday, so I'm happy about that, though I hate that it means you two have had to run. Having him with me this time has been a joy and a gift but also a heartache because it reminds me of what I took from him-- then I wonder if he deserves me--"

"Jenny, look at me," Paul interrupted firmly, cupping her chin in one hand. "Scott can be stubborn and he has a temper-- like Wayne and me and you. That's what helps him survive. But he's always loved you and never blamed you. Not for that. Being a parent is something that grows inside over a long period of time, but once it's there, it doesn't go away. You know that and Scott does too."

She considered this. "I want to believe you."

"You don't have to," he said. "Ask our son."

Jenny said nothing. Some of Scott's words in the heat of argument still stung.

"Children say hurtful things sometimes." Paul said, startling her out of her thoughts. She wasn't sure if it was empathy or coincidence, but she had to get used to that again. "Mostly out of their own uncertainty. With adults it's often a way of testing the boundaries, seeing if the rules hold, if we care. But what they're too young to realize is they already know the answer, because why risk it with somebody they know will walk away?"

He's good, Jenny thought. She'd almost forgotten how much so.

"There's much about his mother for Scott to be proud," Paul continued. "Compassion, humor, courage, strength--"

"Don't tell me you forgot Karen Isely," she said. If she'd ever been really nuts as everyone claimed, it was then. Even she couldn't believe what a basket case she'd been just two years before: a cowering, shaking hermit, fragile as an eggshell who sobbed at the slightest provocation. She'd been so far over the edge, she'd thrown Paul out of the cabin, too stupid to recognize him.

"Karen was a different person," Paul answered. "That person held in so much pain, fear and loss that she wasn't able to let herself be human. But that isn't true of Jenny, who helped me escape, or Margaret, who protects her son. You're at your best when things are worst. When I came the first time, you didn't have to help me."

"I did it because you had a gun," Jenny reminded him. "I was terrified."

"Yes, at first," he said. "But you must have believed me when I said I meant no harm, or you wouldn't have come looking for me after I hitched a ride with the cook."

"I guess not," she conceded.

"It takes special people to accept things-- and beings they don't understand," he went on. "When I took Scott Sr.'s body, I needed one quickly, it was available and all I hoped was that you wouldn't be so afraid as to shut me out and that we'd get to the crater in time. But you gave me more. You were my friend, Jenny-hayden, and you allowed me to feel and become part of the love you had for Scott, a bond between husband and wife that people on Earth hold private and dear. I do not take that privilege for granted."

Jenny was speechless. He thought she'd done him the favor? It was he who'd made her alive again, made Scott alive again just long enough to erase the horror of Scott's mangled car and lifeless body and to let her say the goodbye the suddenness of death had taken from her. It was he who'd fixed her bad plumbing and given her Scott's namesake, whose birth the Hayden and Geffner clans awaited with almost as much anticipation and awe as the Second Coming.

"You also made a part of me human forever," Paul said solemnly. "Young Scott is half of my link to this world and to humanity, my hope for both our species. His welfare is the most important thing in my life. In our travels together, we've had to depend often on the kindness of strangers, and there have been many, but there's only one person on this earth to whom I can entrust him without question, who values his life, well-being and happiness as much as I do. Being separated from both of you this time was very difficult, but I knew as long as you could stay together, you'd take care of one another and be all right."

He was doing it again, echoing her message to them in Saguaro and her words to Scott outside the safehouse the night they'd seen him last. Useful as his powers usually were, she began to wonder if it was necessarily a good thing for him to sense her thoughts. She changed the subject. "Do you really have a temper? I've never seen you lose it. I thought you Algeibans are peaceful things."

"We are," Paul said. "Unless we or those we love are being threatened."

Jenny sighed. "How much longer do you think we're safe in this town?"

"I don't know."

"What did the FSA do to you all this time?"

"Poke, prod, yell, wear me down with questions, drive between safehouses," he said, leaving out the part about Casey. "The usual, only longer. Let's not talk about it now."

"You're sure you're all right though?" He looked painfully gaunt to her eyes.

"Yes." He leaned over and kissed her gently. With one finger, he traced a line from one side of her face, around the curve of her jaw and down her neck.

In a moment of silent communication only he recognized as such, she touched her own finger to his temple and mirrored the gestures on him. He began to slip off her blouse.

"Wait, Paul--" she stopped him quickly.

"What's the matter?" he asked, sitting up.

"What if Scott hears us?"

She saw from his blank expression that he had no idea what she was talking about. Other than the night before Paul's capture six weeks before, it was the first time in their son's life that they were together with him in the other room. She thought fleetingly about going outside or asking if there was any way to soundproof with a sphere, but then she realized it was folly to explain why to a Starman. Scott would find out soon enough if he hadn't already. "Never mind."

o o O o o

Scott awoke to a totally quiet apartment. He'd gotten used to the sound of the radio as Jenny started her day. They'd been up late and it was Saturday, so maybe his parents were sleeping in.

He got out of bed and padded into the bathroom to wash up, glancing into the living room on the way. The couch was neatly put back together with no signs of life. He thought it a bit odd but didn't dwell on it too long, glad to have a few moments alone in peace.

Twenty minutes later, still in bathrobe and bare feet, he went into the kitchen. At his place at the table, propped up against a still warm plate of eggs, toast and fruit salad, was a carefully lettered note in Paul's handwriting: Gone out. Back soon.

Scott smiled. His mother would have never let him get away with a note like that, but it was classic Paul. It was also just like Jenny to leave him breakfast so he wouldn't feel abandoned-- or compelled to stuff his face with junk. He was contentedly eating and reading the paper when there was a quick, faint sound at the door. He knew it was Paul. Considering how often Jenny misplaced her keys, it was too bad she wasn't like them.

"Morning," he said.

"Hi, sleepyhead," Jenny said. "Finally up, huh?"

"It's not that late," he demurred. "Where did you go?"

"We took a walk," Paul reported with the demeanor of a schoolboy experiencing his first crush. "Your mother's been showing me around. It's a nice place here. We met somebody who might have a job for me too."

"Marty, Pat's husband," Jenny told Scott.

"Oh, that's good," Scott said, spearing a piece of apple with his fork. "Who'd you say Dad is, Mom?"

"Paul Forrester," Jenny replied. "It is a risk, but you're right; it's probably best."

"I'm not sure I can do this," Paul told Scott. "Every time I touch your mother in public, I feel like I'm having an affair with somebody else's wife."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time, Dad," Scott pointed out. "That sounds about right for Paul Forrester."

"Not me, him," Paul said as he had hundreds of times since Mount Hawthorne.

"Did anyone look at you funny?" Scott asked his mother.

"No," Jenny answered. "Your dad's just nervous. He'll get over it."

"Jenny, can I kiss you now?" Paul asked plaintively.

She wrapped her arms around him. "Yes, Paul, you can."

o o O o o

"What about this one?" Scott asked, pointing to a watch in the display case.

"No, too expensive," Paul told him. "Sooner or later it'll just get uh-- lost again." He inspected one with a plastic band from a rack on the counter. "What's this button for?"

"Oh, that's for the light so you can see it in the dark," Scott explained.

"Very ingenious," Paul commented, trying it out several times. "Useful too." He thought of the many times they had to travel in the middle of the night.

Suddenly, there was a loud, high-pitched screech next to them and a little boy who looked about five reached up and grabbed Paul's arm.

"Ricky, no--" a girl who must have been the older sister protested. She added apologetically. "He likes lights."

"I'm sorry," the mother said, rushing up from the opposite direction and gently but firmly prying her son's tightly grasping fingers from Paul.

"It's all right," Paul assured her.

Ricky, however, now thwarted, only screeched louder and threw himself on the floor in a full-blown tantrum, rocking and flailing. As other shoppers began to stare, his screeching turned into a tuneless hum.

Paul immediately knelt down and reached for the child.

"I'm sorry; he doesn't react well to strangers," the mother cut in quickly.

"I see," Paul said. "I'm Paul and this is Shane. Now we're not strangers anymore." He gave her a Starman smile.

He touched Ricky's shoulder lightly and almost instantly the little boy relaxed and quieted. With an almost imperceptible gesture, Paul encouraged him to turn around.

As soon as Ricky saw the watch again, he leaned forward excitedly and reached for it.

Still holding the little boy's shoulder with one hand, Paul lowered his eyebrows and shook his head slightly in gentle disapproval. He pulled the watch out of Ricky's reach and held it there as if waiting for something. Momentarily, he slowly flicked the light on and off five times in succession.

Ricky laughed. Paul smiled, placed both hands on the little boy's shoulders to signal that the game was over, then rose. "I'll take this one," he told the cashier.

Ricky's mother and sister, Scott and several onlookers simply stood there, wondering what to make of this wordless but obviously significant exchange. "Thank you," the mother managed finally.

"Anytime," Paul responded softly.

Once they'd paid for Paul's purchase and were back on the sidewalk, Scott said, "Wow, that was really something." He knew his father could communicate with non-verbal people like Conrad Bennett, the aging pilot who'd had a stroke, but he was still impressed. "Back in Seattle, there was a kid in my class whose brother was autistic. Once he got going like that, it was really hard to calm him down."

Paul didn't know what "autistic" meant, but he assumed it was yet another human label for those who were different like Ricky and them. "He's in there," he told Scott. "He thinks and feels, just can't express it in the same way. But you can help it get out if you know how."

"You definitely do," Scott said.

"Yes. And you'll learn."

"Yeah," Scott sighed, thinking of all the otherworldly things about which his dad had said that before. "Eventually."

"By the way," Paul said casually, out of nowhere, "I missed you."

Scott made a sound of acknowledgment.

"Did you miss me?" Paul inquired innocently. He knew the answer from Liz and Jenny, but relished any opportunity to play-- payback for all the times Scott had pulled the wool over his naive, alien eyes.

"Nah, not at all," Scott responded with a straight face.

Paul raised his eyebrows. "I don't believe you," he said matter-of-factly, putting an arm around the son who wasn't supposed to be his son.

o o O o o

"Dad?" Scott asked.

"Hmm?" Paul murmured distractedly, loading a new roll of film into his camera.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Paul replied.

"Were you-- like-- talking to me a few weeks ago?"

Paul looked up with a puzzled expression. "I don't understand."

"See, um, I kinda had a fight with Mom," Scott explained, "and I took off--"

Paul raised one eyebrow. "I see. What did you do to make her angry at you?"

"Whoa, wait a second," Scott cut in indignantly. "What did I do?"

"Never mind; I'll ask her," Paul said mildly.

"Dad!" Scott protested.

"Scott," his father said patiently, "parents shouldn't keep things like that about their children from each other." He fiddled with the flash, momentarily irked. "Have you been playing with my camera?"

"Can I finish my question?" Scott asked in response.

"Yes. Go ahead."

"Anyway, I was just sitting there, right? And you started talking to me. I mean, we were having a real conversation just like now only I couldn't see you, my sphere wasn't on and there weren't blue lights or anything--"

"What did I say to you?" Paul asked.

"The same old stuff about being responsible and how Mom loves me and you want to trust me and all that," Scott told him.

Paul nodded. "That wasn't me. That was your conscience."

Scott's jaw dropped. "Huh?"

"It was," Paul assured him.

"If it was my conscience, how come it sounded like Paul Edward Forrester?" Scott retorted skeptically. "It never did before."

"You're my son," Paul said simply. "You're a part of me and I'm a part of you. You came home, obviously."

"Yeah," Scott said.

"For the wrong reason or the right one?" his father asked.

Scott thought about it. "The right one, I hope."

"You know, Mom does love you more than anyone or anything in the universe," Paul went on. "So do I."

"Thanks, Dad," Scott said. "I wish she'd stop calling me 'baby' though."

Paul smiled wistfully. "Did she call you that when you were little?"

"I guess, but come on, Dad. I'm practically seventeen now."

"True," Paul said, "but you're still her baby. Our baby. I told her so before you were born. It's her way of showing you her love."

"It's embarrassing." Scott told him.

"I'm sure Jenny doesn't mean it that way." Paul said. "Why don't you tell her it bothers you?"

"I can't," Scott said

"Why not?" Paul asked. "How is she supposed to know if you don't say anything?"

"I don't want to hurt her." Scott said.

"Then you can go on being annoyed," Paul said matter-of-factly "Your choice."

"I was kinda hoping you'd tell her," Scott said.

"Nope, that's not my responsibility." Paul answered.

"Dad, I can't talk to her the way I can to you."

"You can learn," Paul told him. "Don't worry. She won't bite."

"Obviously you haven't been in an argument with her yet," Scott replied grimly.

"According to her, you two are getting along now," Paul pointed out.

"We are-- sort of."

"Well," Paul began slowly, "I think this is a case of the sky is always bluer--"

"Grass is always greener, Dad," Scott corrected.

"On the other side," Paul finished. "Isn't it better to have her being affectionate rather than yelling at you?"

"You have a talent for asking unfair questions," Scott sidestepped the query.

"And you should stop complaining," his father advised. "You wanted your mother and now you have her."

"Yeah," Scott sighed.

The Starman added softly, "Thank my lucky star and cherish every minute, because we may not get a chance again."

Scott didn't say anything. He picked up the empty plastic film canister from the table and played with it aimlessly.

"On second thought," Paul amended suddenly, scrunching up his face in thought, "I take it back. She loves you more than anyone or anything except me!"

In one swift motion, Scott grabbed a couch cushion and lobbed it at his father.

"Oh, no you don't--" Paul bellowed, playfully catching hold of Scott.

Soon they were on the floor, roughhousing and laughing hysterically when Jenny walked in to see what all the commotion was about. "I'm not even going to ask," she commented flatly.

o o O o o

"Hi, Andy," Scott said as he and Paul passed his friend kneeling by his bike in an empty lot at the corner of the street.

"Hi, Shane, hi, Mr. Forrester," Andy responded.

"Something wrong with your bike, Andy?" Paul inquired.

"Yeah, the chain's bent somehow. It keeps scraping the wheels," Andy explained.

"Well, let's take a look," Paul offered, going around next to the boy.

Scott wanted to ask what Paul knew about bikes, but he kept quiet in front of his friend. Paul always complained that Scott underestimated him.

"Oh, yeah, not too good," Paul observed slowly. "But I think I can fix that." He signaled Scott furtively with his eyes.

Scott saw his father's hand go down to his pocket and he looked around quickly for a distraction. "Uh-- whoa, Andy, did you see those birds?"

"What birds?" Andy asked.

"Over here. Come look. Big ones."

Andy moved over to where Scott was standing and followed Scott's gaze to the sky. "Man, they're huge. Are those swans or something?"

"They're Canadian geese going south for the winter," Paul corrected evenly. He hadn't even looked up. "Shane, come here please and hold this for a minute--"

When Scott went to him, Paul pressed the sphere in his palm and whispered, "Finish it for me."

What? Scott mouthed.

"You can do it. Same concept as cutting and patching a fence. Don't let the shape throw you." The next thing Scott knew, Paul was detouring Andy down the block deep in discussion about geese.

When they returned a few minutes later, Scott was just finishing. Suddenly, a loud siren began blaring and he froze. "What's that?" He was sure that either he'd done something with the sphere or that the cops were on the way.

"It's just a car alarm, Shane. No big deal," Andy told him, looking at him strangely.

Paul spun the wheels of the bike deftly. "There you go, Andy. Nice and smooth."

"Thanks, Mr. Forrester. Thanks, Shane."

"You're very welcome," Paul said with a Starman smile.

o o O o o

"Mr. Fox! Mr. Fox!" Wylie shrieked excitedly, rushing into the room.

"Yeah, Wylie," Fox said. He was standing by the computer waiting for a printout.

"Look!"

"Wylie, why do you waste your money on those tabloids? We have work to do."

"Sir," Wylie said insistently, "'The Gossiping Gadfly' has an item on the alien."

"The gossiping-- What?" Fox exclaimed as the word "alien" finally registered.

"Gadfly, sir. It's a column in Celebrity magazine. It says, 'Rumor has it that Pulitzer Prize-winning rogue photographer, Paul Forrester has been spotted in Pennsylvania of late in the company of an unidentified woman. A notorious Lothario, he has been linked in the past with a long string of women including the actress Lola Granger. He was also the subject of a paternity suit in the '70's involving a Brazilian prostitute, a liaison he has always vehemently denied--'"

"Yeah, yeah," Fox muttered. "Get on it, Wylie."

"Right away, sir."

o o O o o

Paul walked down the hall toward the apartment whistling a tune he'd just heard. He shifted his bag of groceries to one arm and turned the doorknob with a gentle click. Scott met him, signaling for quiet. "Mom has a migraine again," he whispered.

"What's a migraine?" Paul asked quietly.

"A kind of headache," Scott told him. "Her eyes hurt and she feels sick to her stomach."

"If it's a headache, what do her eyes and her stomach have to do with it?"

"Got me, Dad," Scott said. "That's what it is. Do you think you can do anything?"

"Maybe," Paul said, handing Scott the groceries and approaching Jenny. He stroked her face affectionately.

"Paul?" she murmured.

"Yes. Don't talk; just rest. I'm going to try to help you." He gently placed one hand on her forehead and the other on her abdomen trying to assess the situation. Then he took out the sphere.

Momentarily, he slipped into the kitchen where Scott was unloading the food. "I'm not sure I understand the underlying problem, but I was able to take away the pain," he reported.

'What underlying problem?" Scott asked anxiously. "She's okay, isn't she? It's not a brain tumor or--"

"No, no, nothing like that," Paul reassured him quickly. "She'll be fine. These migraines are strange things though. Now let's get busy so we can eat when she wakes up."

Half an hour later, they were sitting together leafing through a book of nature photographs when Jenny appeared.

"Hi," Paul greeted her. "Dinner's almost ready. Meatloaf. How do you feel?"

"Better," Jenny said.

"Dad healed you, Mom," Scott told her proudly.

"Uh oh, " she responded lightly. "Last time he did that--"

"I have something I must tell you, Jenny-hayden," Paul said gravely.

"What happened last time?" Scott asked.

"He gave me you," Jenny said matter-of-factly.

It took a while for this to sink in. "Mom, you're not!"

"I don't know. Ask your father."

Scott shot a look at Paul. "Dad, you didn't!"

It was an interminable minute or so before Jenny and Paul both burst out laughing.

"No fair, you guys, two against one," Scott complained good-naturedly. He wasn't used to his parents conspiring.

"I thought about it," Paul said. "Then I remembered what Eddie told me." He cocked his head to one side teasingly.

"Who's Eddie?" Jenny asked, vaguely aware of some father-son thing building that she didn't get. Now she was the outsider.

"Some guy he met on a park bench in Seattle who knows about teenagers," Scott answered.

"I stayed, didn't I?" Paul pointed out. "Even though you wanted me to zap back to Krypton, wherever that is?"

"Only because Liz talked you into it and you know Paul Forrester would never refuse a pretty lady, " Scott rejoined.

"Scott," Jenny exclaimed.

Paul put his arm around their son. "Don't worry. You can go on being the center of attention."

Scott turned, suddenly realizing that a pot on the stove that had been bubbling noisily no longer was. "Dad, did you turn the burner off under the vegetables?"

"No," Paul said.

Scott sighed and got up to investigate. "The pilot light's out again, Mom. Weren't you going to call the landlord?"

"I did," Jenny said. "He said he'd get to it."

"What's the matter?" Paul inquired.

"The thing on the stove that lights the gas is broken," Jenny explained.

"Oh," Paul said, reaching for his sphere.

"That's okay, Dad; I've got it," Scott waved him off nonchalantly, holding up his own sphere. By now, he'd had plenty of practice.

Paul retreated in surprise, not sure if he felt more proud or hurt. "Showoff," he muttered under his breath.

Jenny heard him. She smiled, blew him a kiss and mouthed, Center of attention.

Paul smiled back and nodded.

o o O o o

"I feel like ice cream," Scott announced as he and his mother stood under the awning of a cafe. They were waiting for Paul, who was taking pictures of some children playing across the street. The local historical society had hired him to work on a "Then and Now" exhibit for the town's 150th anniversary.

Jenny laughed. "Scott, it's freezing out here." They'd readily accepted Paul's suggestion to come along, but at the moment, it wasn't her idea of quality time.

"Well, maybe not ice cream," he amended. "But something."

"You need your chocolate fix, right?" she asked knowingly. The aroma of fresh coffee wafting into the street was enticing her too. In her head, she heard his toddler voice imploring, "Please, Mommy?" Fourteen years later, he was being more subtle but it was still a hint. "Well," she said playfully, "if you behave yourself, when your-- when Paul's finished, we just might consider it."

"Consider what?" Paul asked, suddenly appearing beside Scott.

"Going in there," Scott gestured.

"Do they have Dutch apple pie?" his father queried.

"I don't know," Scott said.

"Let's walk over that way first," Paul told them. "I want to get some landscapes."

As they headed in the direction where he pointed, Mr. Gendron came out of the video rental place down the street. He waved at Scott when he saw him.

"Nate's dad," Scott whispered to Jenny.

"I remember," she said.

"Hi, Mr. Gendron," Scott greeted the teacher as he approached.

"Hi, Shane. Cold out, isn't it?" Mr. Gendron commented. "I hope the snow will hold off for a few weeks more."

"Yeah," Scott said. "You know my mom--"

"Yes, of course. Good to see you again, Mrs. Colby,"

"Margaret," Jenny smiled.

"And this is--um--" Scott went on awkwardly.

"Paul Forrester," Paul cut in, rescuing him. Remembering the explanation they'd agreed upon, he added carefully. "I'm a friend of Shane's father."

"Burt Gendron," the other man introduced himself. "It's a pleasure." Then, "Shane, I hope you don't mind. I showed your turning point essay to Mrs. Reiman. It's very expressive and we both liked it a lot. There are a couple of magazines that have scholarships for student writers. You might want to submit it."

"Me?" Scott was dumbfounded. "Uh, thanks, Mr. Gendron, but I don't think so." He couldn't believe they were impressed by a stupid story that wasn't even true.

The teacher interpreted Scott's uncertainty as modesty. He smiled. "All right, I'll stop embarrassing you in front of your mother, but I hope you'll think about it."

He made a move to leave, videotape in hand. "I'd better get home. Nate and his sister have been bugging me to watch this movie for weeks. Are you doing your reading?"

"Yes, sir," Scott said.

"Good. See you Monday."

When Mr. Gendron had gone, Paul asked, "What was he talking about?"

"Oh, just an assignment I wrote," Scott brushed it off.

"He said something about scholarships. Does that mean money?"

"Yes," Jenny said. "If the kids' essays are good, I guess they get money for college."

"Maybe you should try that," Paul said to Scott. He wanted Scott to go to college, but the way they had to live, he doubted they'd ever have money to pay for it.

"You've got to be kidding," Scott said.

"Your teachers like you," Paul pointed out earnestly. "They think you're smart. You are smart."

"This might be your chance," Jenny agreed. "Even if you don't win, it's good experience."

"Aren't you two always telling me it's not safe to be conspicuous?" Scott asked in a low voice. "Remember what happened with the science fair?"

Jenny didn't, but it wasn't the time or place to ask.

"I'm sorry about that," Paul said apologetically. "I should have been more careful. Next time will be different."

"There won't be a next time," Scott said flatly. He didn't even care about Fox. The whole idea of submitting an essay about a trip that never happened with a father who didn't exist using a name that wasn't his, completely appalled him. He felt like a fraud.

Paul and Jenny looked at each other silently and made a mutual decision to drop the subject. They were coming into an area of open land now. The leaves were turning on the trees and there were expansive views of the mountains on one side and the buildings of town on the other.

"So many trees!" Paul exclaimed wonderingly. "Now I know why the founding parents called the colony, 'Penn's woods.'"

"You know about that, huh?" Scott said in surprise.

"I know a lot of things," Paul told him. "It was named for William Penn. He and the Quakers settled Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love."

"He's right," Scott told his mother.

"He must have been reading your history book," Jenny said.

"We're studying the Bolshevik Revolution," Scott said as Paul continued to talk.

"They came from England so they'd have freedom to--"

"Make oatmeal and motor oil," Jenny finished with a sly glance at Scott.

"Hey, I didn't just step off Mount Hawthorne," Paul protested.

"You're right. I'm sorry; that wasn't nice. They wanted religious freedom."

"The part I don't understand is why they're called Quakers," Paul said.

"Because they 'quaked' in the presence of God," Scott said. "But they call themselves Friends, short for Friends of Light because they believe God speaks to everyone as equals. They're really into simplicity, learning, peace and justice--"

"Really?" Paul said. "Sounds interesting."

"Yeah," Scott smiled, knowing his dad would appreciate that. "You know what else? The person who started it was named George Fox."

There was a stunned silence before Paul said, "Is that a joke? It's not very funny."

"Scott," Jenny said, using his real name for emphasis. "It's fun to tease, but not with things like that."

"Sorry, Mom, but it's true. Look it up."

"That's one piece of historical trivia I can do without," Jenny informed him.

"Sorry," Scott said again. "I just thought D-- Paul-- wants to learn stuff."

"Actually, right now Paul wants to work," Paul said. "Historical trivia can't hurt us." He took Jenny's hand and led her to a grassy slope. "Sit down and enjoy the scenery. "

She did so, taking out her sketch pad as Scott trailed Paul and helped set up. "You know what would be a really cool shot?" Scott asked. "Looking down from a tree."

"A tree?" Paul said, looking upward uncertainly. He couldn't see the sky through the tops of the trees, which meant they were higher than he wanted Scott to be.

"Yeah." Scott said, taking the camera from his father's hands and advancing toward a large maple.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Paul said, starting to follow him.

"Don't worry," Scott assured him. "I know what I'm doing. I had a treehouse in Seattle."

Paul turned to Jenny. "Treehouse. Does that mean a house shaped like a tree or one like Abraham Lincoln's instead of with aluminum siding?"

Jenny stifled a laugh. "Neither, my love," she corrected gently. "A house in a tree."

''In a tree?" Paul exclaimed in alarm, looking up to see Scott perched precariously on an overhanging limb. "Come down from there now."

"Let him be, Paul," Jenny said mildly. Her calmness surprised Scott. Usually she was the one freaking out.

"I don't want him to break his arm bones," Paul fretted. Despite three years of Scott's Pygmalion-like efforts to break him of his odd Starman constructions, they still came out in times of stress. "Or my camera," he added pointedly.

"He's fine, Paul. He'll be down in a minute," Jenny said.

"Dad," Scott said, lowering his voice to a whisper, "So what? If I break my arm, just fix it."

"I don't do bones," Paul responded.

Scott backed up onto the trunk and dropped to the ground safely. "Anything for the picture, right?"

The Starman looked at Jenny quizzically. "How is it that he takes after Paul Forrester? I didn't do that."

"I have no idea," she replied coyly. As Scott flopped down lazily next to her, she asked, "How're you doing, baby?"

"Okay," he said. Though he usually hated when she called him that, he was in a playful mood and didn't mind for once.

"You're happy today, aren't you?" she observed.

"Yeah, Mom."

"Good," she said, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead.

"Why did you do that?" Scott asked, a bit self-conscious though nobody else was around at the moment.

"No special reason," his mother answered. "Just because I love you."

"Do you love me today?" he asked. The words came subconsciously as if from a half-remembered dream.

"I loved you yesterday," Jenny replied.

"Will you love me tomorrow?" Scott continued by rote, his voice surer now.

"I'll love you all the days of the world," Jenny finished. "I didn't know you remembered that."

"I didn't either," he admitted. Once again, a hazy remnant of their past was gradually resurfacing. The ritual verbal jousting between mother and son invariably had reduced his younger self to giggles: "I love you, Mommy." "I love you too, Scotty." He did still love her, but now it seemed silly to say so.

Jenny drew two last quick lines in her sketch and turned it to show Scott. "KI or MC?" she asked.

"JH," he said decisively.

She looked at him questioningly.

"JH," he insisted.

"Grandma Geffner taught you to write your name so you could sign your drawings too," she told him. "You got as far as SCOTTYH with all the letters run together. I heard Grandpa Hayden was miffed we left before you learned the rest of it."

Scott laughed, sharing a private moment with his mom before he looked up and saw his father standing alone a few yards away. "Um, I think a certain party feels left out." He knew he wasn't supposed to say "Dad" in public, but couldn't get used to "Paul" either.

"Well, that party can come over here if he wants," Jenny pointed out. "He has no idea we're talking about him, does he? Paul!"

He walked over to them.

"Are we making you feel lonesome?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I like watching you two. It makes me feel sad and happy all at the same time. Sad you were without each other for so long, but happy you're together again."

"I wish we could say who you really are," Scott told him. "I feel like I'll go crazy if we have to keep this up."

"You both know who I am," Paul reminded him. "That's all that matters."

"I guess," Scott said, sounding unconvinced.

"Let's go," Paul said now. "Mr. Gendron says you have homework."

"Paul Forrester wouldn't make me," Scott challenged.

"No," the Starman agreed with a wink at Jenny. "That's how you can tell."

"Mom," Scott pleaded petulantly. "Say something."

Jenny smiled and he realized they were teasing him again. He sighed. "I liked you guys better before you had a sense of humor."

o o O o o

"Just amazing, Paul," Marty said, looking over the latest set of prints. "Good job."

"Thank you," Paul said.

"Oh, before I forget, we'd like a short bio for the exhibit." Marty went on.

"Bio?" Paul asked.

"Just a paragraph or so on who you are, what you do. Nothing much."

"Actually, I'd rather not if that's all right," Paul declined graciously. "These small, side jobs tend to--uh--get me in trouble with my agent." He let out what he hoped sounded like an embarrassed laugh.

Marty nodded knowingly. "I understand. No problem. Those exclusivity clauses must be a pain. We'll keep this quiet."

"I appreciate it," Paul said.

"So how long are you planning to stay in town?" Marty inquired. "We have some other projects coming up where I could use you, but it won't be for a couple months."

"I don't know," Paul said. "I suppose as long as Margaret and Shane will have me."

"Margaret says you knew her husband in Vietnam,"

"That's right," Paul said.

"Were you in the service? You don't strike me as the type."

"Not really," Paul said, remembering the Santa Barbara Twelve. "But they got me anyway. I covered the war for Stars and Stripes. I owe David my life, and it's very difficult for a man to be away from his family so I do what I can for Margaret and Shane."

"They're lucky to have you," Marty told him. "Especially Shane. Margaret's a sweetheart and she gives her heart and soul to him, but a boy that age needs a father figure."

Paul answered carefully, "Shane's father loves him very much and cherishes every minute they have together. There's nothing more he'd like than to be with him all the time, but when it comes to the United States government, one can be put in awkward and sometimes dangerous situations that aren't what's best for him and his mother."

"Oh, I don't mean to judge," Marty said quickly. "I'm a veteran myself. When it comes to serving our country, you've gotta do what you've gotta do to protect the people you love. I give him all the credit in the world for that. I'm just saying, I know there's a lot of worrying and dislocation that goes on when families have to be apart. You be sure to tell Shane's dad we're all looking out for his wife and son and they're doing him proud."

"Oh, he knows," Paul said with feigned casualness.

o o O o o

"Paul, did you tell Scott he could get his license?" Jenny asked, standing in the doorway of the bathroom as Paul carefully groomed his new beard. After his escape, he'd decided it was safer to keep it for a while. It looked odd to his family, but they were getting used to it.

"Of course not," he replied evenly. "The FSA would find us in about ten minutes. Besides, I'm not Shane's father."

"He just told me you said he could," Jenny informed him.

Paul sighed. "He told me you said he could."

"No, I didn't. When did he say that?"

"Yesterday. I meant to ask you then Marty called and I forgot. Teenagers!" Paul exclaimed. "I guess that means he really wants to drive."

"He's been talking for two months about wanting a Mustang," Jenny said.

"Really?" Paul laughed.

"I wish you wouldn't encourage him. If we're not a united front, he'll divide and conquer."

"What?" Paul was confused by the war metaphors.

"If we don't tell him the same things, he takes advantage," Jenny interpreted.

"Which he's unfortunately very good at doing," Paul finished. "You really can't blame him though, Jenny. Cars seem to be very important to people down here, especially teenagers. He only wants to fit in. Even if he can't get a license, it's good for him to know how to drive. What if we can't?"

"That's true," Jenny conceded.

"He's driven a little with me before. He'll do fine." Paul said. He wiped his face and turned to kiss her. "Tell you what. Let's take him out and you can see for yourself."

He paused. "Oh, by the way, the keys are in the left pocket of your coat."

"Paul!" she exclaimed. "Don't do that!"

"What?"

"Read my mind. It makes me jumpy."

"It is all right. You do not be little bit jumpy, Jenny-hayden," he intoned suddenly in perfect Scott Hayden Sr. as Kurt Waldheim.

She let out a shriek. "Now you're really getting spooky."

"Just so you know it's me," he said in Paul Forrester's voice again. "Besides, you want to know where your keys are, don't you?"

"You--" she began, pretending to hit him.

"I wouldn't do that in front of Scott, Jenny. Children are very impressionable," he advised, striding quickly away before she could answer.

Scott greeted him with "Dad, can we go to the mall later? I need some stuff."

"Not so fast," Paul said. "You've been dividing and conquering again."

"What?"

"Did you tell your mother I said you could get your driver's license?"

"Uh-- I guess."

"Did I tell you that you could get your driver's license?" Paul continued pointedly.

"Actually--no."

"I'd be careful if I were you, Scott," his father advised. "There are two of us now, we talk and we don't like it when you're slick."

There was no way out. "Sorry," Scott said.

"You know you can't get a license. We've discussed it before."

"So I'm stuck hitching rides forever?"

"Not necessarily." Paul said. "You'll have to be very, very careful because we can't make it legal, but I'll take you out and we'll see how it goes."

"Cool!" Scott exclaimed. "When?"

"How about now?" Paul asked. "Mom's coming with us, okay?"

"Mom?" Scott repeated uncertainly. "Dad, she's not going to get all nervous and yell at me, is she?"

"She won't yell," Paul assured him. "I thought she'd like to see how well you can do. Besides, she can help. She taught me to drive."

Outside, Scott headed straight for the driver's door.

"Uh, uh," Paul stopped him. "Not here."

Scott went around to the other side. Jenny got in the back seat.

Paul drove to a quiet area on the other side of town and pulled over onto the blacktop. He stopped the engine, pulled the key out of the ignition and tossed it at Scott. "Your turn."

"I don't need this," Scott said, eyeing the key derisively.

"Neither do I, but it's called blending in," Paul reminded him. They switched places and he intoned, "Seat belt."

"I know," Scott said.

"Now," Paul began as Scott started the car again, "Let's drive out of here, go down the road and make a left at the food station."

"What?"

"Your mother knows what I mean," Paul said.

"Well, I don't. I hate it when you two start with the private jokes."

"Dad means the concession stand," Jenny supplied.

'That gray thing over there?"

"Yes," Paul said.

"Then just say so."

"Eyes on the road, Scott," Paul said. "A car is a machine, not a toy. You need to pay attention... Good... You're drifting a little too far to the right. Pull it back... Gently, don't jerk the wheel... that's it. Put on your turn signal and get ready..."

"There's nobody behind me," Scott pointed out.

"If you're turning, you need a turn signal," Paul said. "Those are the rules.".

Scott complied, eased up on the gas, checked for traffic and began the turn.

"You're doing fine," his father said encouragingly. "Very smooth. See, Jenny? He can do it."

o o O o o

"What's in the chicken, Jenny?" Paul asked at the dinner table. "It's really good."

"I don't know," Jenny smiled. "Ask Scott."

"Lemon, pepper, garlic, herbs--" Scott began.

"You're kidding," Paul said. "Scott only knows how to make Stella's pancakes."

"Not anymore," Jenny told him.

"Mom's been teaching me while you were gone, Dad," Scott added.

"Really--" Paul squeezed Scott's shoulder in a gesture of pride. "Well, my son, both of your parents learned new things about you today-- nice things."

"You did very well today, Scott," Jenny agreed.

"Does this mean I get to take the car to school tomorrow?" Scott asked hopefully.

"No," Paul said firmly. "You have a long way to go before that."

o o O o o

"Oh, Paul, she's precious isn't she? Like a little doll," Jenny exclaimed. The two of them were walking home from visiting Kay and her new daughter.

"Yes," he agreed. He paused. "Would you like to have another baby?"

Jenny was surprised by his question. Much as they'd teased Scott about it, they'd never considered it seriously. "I thought we agreed we can't and won't as long as Fox is still chasing us."

"What about when he stops?" Paul asked matter-of-factly.

"If he stops--" Jenny corrected grimly.

"He will," Paul said.

"I'll be too old by then," she sighed. Catching his bemused look, she said, "I know, I know, the reproductive process as I know it is very primitive. But it's hard having a baby."

"I'll help you when the pains come," Paul assured her. "I'm not frightened. I've seen a human woman give birth before."

"You have?" Jenny asked, slightly envious that he hadn't been around to watch Scott come into the world. "Who?"

"Someone who traveled a long way to be with the father of her child," he answered simply.

"It's not just that," Jenny told him. "It's the diapers, late night feedings, colic--"

"What's that?"

"Screaming," Jenny supplied. "Hours and hours on end."

"Why?" Paul asked in obvious alarm.

"Who knows?" Jenny sighed.

"How do you stop it?" he asked.

"A lot of the time you can't," she said. "You just have to wait it out. Babies are wonderful but that part isn't. They're so dependent on you for every little thing."

Paul considered this information. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay the first time. Part of that should have been my responsibility as Scott's father. But I'd like to have that experience one day if we can. There will come a time when Scott will want to be on his own as he should be and you and I can start over from the beginning."

Jenny nodded thoughtfully. "Whose baby would it be, mine, yours and Paul Forrester's?"

"Yes, or whoever's body I'm in at the time," he replied. "Unless you still have that lock of Scott Sr.'s hair."

She shook her head no. "I'm not sure I want Paul Forrester's baby. His body's handsome, but his personality wasn't one our child should inherit."

"No," Paul conceded. "Well, if I compared your genetic blueprint with young Scott's, I suppose I could try extracting some of his human father's traits from his blood. It's an experimental process that's very controversial among my people. If it didn't work, there's a risk the baby might be damaged. That wouldn't matter to me; she'd still be our baby, but as we know, this world isn't a forgiving place for those who are different."

Jenny picked up on only part of what he was saying. "She?"

"We already had a boy baby," Paul said. "Don't human women always want girl babies?"

"It would be nice, but it doesn't matter," Jenny said. "Another boy would be fine."

"We could name her Lizzie," Paul continued.

"Lizzie?" she repeated.

"After Liz," he explained.

"I know. I wouldn't mind calling her Liz, but Lizzie reminds me of Lizzy Borden."

"Who's that?"

"An ax murderer, Paul," Jenny said bluntly.

"Ax murderer?" Where had he heard that before? "Oh, yes, I remember. Lainie in Saguaro said I sounded like an ax murderer who just had a face transplant."

"Why did she say that?" Jenny asked in surprise.

"I think she was afraid I'd hurt you," Paul said. "But I wouldn't do that."

"I know," Jenny told him.

"Will you think about what I said?" he asked.

"Yes," she promised. Then in exasperation, "Oh, why are we even talking about this? The decision's completely out of our hands. Do me a favor. Next time Fox keels over, don't save him."

Paul didn't understand "keel over" but he knew the gist of what she was saying. "Jenny," he remonstrated.

"You're too good, my love," she said. His greatest strength was also his greatest weakness in a world where people all too often took advantage. She wondered what it was like in his world, where the strong did not victimize the weak.

"You want me to be bad?" he asked in a shocked voice.

"No," she said. "I want you just the way you are, whoever you are." Then, "You've never told me your Algeiban name. You must have one."

Paul nodded. "I do, but it's not understandable in human language. Even the name Algeiba is not the one by which its inhabitants know it. On that star we communicate not with words, vocal cords and lips moving a quarter inch up and down but here and here." He touched his finger first to his head then to his heart.

"Is it possible for me-- a mere mortal-- to learn it?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said. "You're not just any mere mortal; you're the mother of a Starchild. So perhaps. But like any language, it takes a long time."

"You seem to have learned the gold disk in about five seconds," Jenny quipped.

"No," Paul said. "I learned greetings and the rudiments of syntax. But then I had to learn from you and Scott and just from living on this earth. I'm learning every day. But I may never catch up."

Almost without thinking, he'd begun to caress the back of her neck, running his fingers lightly through her hair. At that moment, she didn't care who saw them and she didn't stop him. "You know what this means, don't you?" he asked softly.

She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I love you Jenny-hayden. I want to be with you, our son and our Starchildren to come until the end of time."

"I know," she said.

"Good," he said. "You may learn Algeiban yet."

o o O o o

"Hi," Jenny said, slipping off her shoes as she came in from work.

"Hi," Scott and Paul both mumbled distantly. They were sitting together poring over a particularly vexing problem in Scott's math homework.

"A little more enthusiasm would be nice," she commented.

"I'm sorry," Paul apologized, looking up just long enough for them to kiss. "How was work?"

"Busy." She moved over to kiss the top of Scott's head lightly. "Did you guys eat?"

"Yep," Scott said amiably.

She looked at him closely. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"You have the same sneaky smile as when you were little and did something you weren't supposed to," she informed him. "You haven't changed much, Scott Hayden, Jr. Did you blow up the kitchen or something?"

"Nope," Scott replied with a small laugh.

She glanced at Paul for a clue, but he was studiously engrossed in trigonometry.

"You two are impossible," Jenny pronounced, heading for the kitchen, "Like father, like son."

When she came back a while later, Scott turned around in his chair to watch her. As soon as they made eye contact, he started to laugh again.

"What?" Jenny demanded. "You're all hyper and silly tonight, Scott. Whatever it is, is it good or bad?"

"You'll find out," Scott teased.

Jenny sighed dramatically.

"Jenny, it's supposed to be a surprise," Paul said finally.

"Well, you're not doing a very good job of keeping it secret," she retorted. "Enough already. Our son's getting weird."

"Dad, can we?" Scott asked.

"Yes," Paul told him.

Scott ran quickly into his room and returned momentarily with a small, flat box. He handed it to his mother. "It's a present, Mom."

"Thank you; that's sweet. What's the occasion?"

"Just because we love you," Scott answered, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Scott tells me down here you have something called Mother's Day," Paul explained, "But that's many months away and we might not be able to wait that long, so we decided to give it to you now. Besides, I don't think it's right to have only one day to remember your mother, do you?"

"Open it, Mom," Scott urged, unable to stand the suspense any longer.

Jenny carefully removed the tape on the box and slid out the contents. It was a small photograph of her starscape that Paul and Scott had first seen in Portland two years before. Paul had matted it neatly and put it in a simple but elegant frame. "It's beautiful," she said.

"That's not all," Paul told her quietly. "Come outside."

"Outside?" she questioned. It was cold out.

"Outside," he insisted. He got her coat and held it open for her as Scott retrieved her shoes.

She followed them downstairs, completely mystified but humoring them. Paul led them behind the building and checked to see that nobody was watching before he asked, "Jenny, do you know which one is my star?"

"Of course," she said.

"Turn to face it," he instructed, "A little closer. Now hold up the picture."

When she did so, the surface of the photograph became luminous with blue light. As the colors swirled and shifted, they gradually transformed from her starscape to the images of her past: she and Scott Sr. on their honeymoon, her mother and in-laws, baby and preschooler Scotty, Wayne and Phyllis, even clips from the old home movies she'd been watching the night the Starman came. Whoever had coined the phrase, "photographic memory" surely never envisioned anything like this. As the kaleidoscope settled, the final image was of her, Scott and Paul on their weekend outing against the backdrop of the Alleghenies. Paul hadn't taken it with his camera, but with his mind's eye, which was far sharper and more sensitive than anything on Earth.

She looked up suddenly as she realized she hadn't heard the hum of their spheres. "Did

you--?"

"No," Paul said, reading her thoughts. "We can't give you a regular photograph of the three of us together--too dangerous to keep around-- so I re-engineered this one. Whether or not Scott and I are with you, if you stand in the light of Algeiba, you'll be able to see what you just saw."

"Oh, my God," Jenny breathed, completely overwhelmed.

Paul turned to Scott in concern. "Does that mean she likes it or not?"

"Yes! Yes!" she exclaimed quickly. "As Scott would say, it's awesome."

"Did you read the card yet, Mom?" Scott asked.

"I'll do it right now," she said, opening the envelope. The outside of the Shoebox cartoon read, Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you? Inside it said, Well, I do, and Scott had added, It feels so good to say "Mom" for real. Love, S. Underneath, Paul had written, To the finest mother in the universe. Thank you for making me so proud. Always, S.

Jenny smiled. S. and S. It was their way of being cryptic lest the enemy find the card, but she recognized the meaning: S. for Shane, Scott and Starchild and another S. for Scott Sr., and Starman. "Give me a hug, baby," she said softly to Scott.

It had been years since she'd said those words. Though she'd been openly affectionate with him these past two months, she hadn't pushed him to reciprocate, knowing she needed to let him do so in his own time. But he came to her easily, his embrace now strong and comforting like his father's.

"Mom," he began tentatively when they let go. "You know, I'm kinda old to be your baby."

To his surprise, she said, "Forgive me, Scott. I know that but we haven't been together in so long that sometimes I slip. I promise I'll work on it, but can you be patient with me?"

"I'll try," Scott said.

"Good enough," Jenny agreed. She asked quietly, "Is it okay for me to say Scotty?"

Scott nodded. "I like it. Nobody's really called me that in a long time except you." Then as he saw her smile, he teased, "What are you laughing at now, Mom?"

"Once when you were still with me, somebody said, 'He looks more like Scott every day,'" Jenny recalled. "You overheard and asked, 'Mommy, why wouldn't I look like me?' I said 'No, baby, she means you look like your daddy. You have his name because you're his son. He's big Scott and you're little Scotty.' You asked me where he was and I pointed up to the sky and said, 'In heaven.' Had we been alone, I might have told you more, but it's funny. Your Earth father's up there and your Star father's down here."

"And little Scotty's grown up to be a big Scotty," Paul added, not understanding their laughter.

"Too big," Jenny told Paul. "Soon we'll be obsolete."

"No, you won't," Scott said.

"Oh, so now you've decided parents are useful?" she bantered.

"Sometimes," he grinned. "Today, anyway."

"I have a question," Paul broke in suddenly.

Jenny and Scott exchanged amused glances, wondering what he was going to ask now. "Yes?" Jenny said expectantly.

"You have holidays for mothers, fathers and people in love. How come there isn't one for sons and daughters?"

"Because," Jenny said flatly, "All the other days are for them."

o o O o o

"So what have you got?" Fox asked, leaning back and taking a sip of coffee.

"The woman's name is Margaret Colby," Wylie said, reading from his notes. "She's the wife of one David Colby, a military officer stationed overseas. She and their son have lived in town for approximately two months without incident."

"She has a son?" Fox asked. Something was starting to click. "How old?"

"I didn't ask, sir."

"Well, ask, Wylie. How long has Forrester been there?"

Wylie shrugged. "A few weeks maybe. The police chief said frankly, nobody really noticed."

"Obviously the Gossiping Gadfly did," Fox retorted. He considered the information. The time frame seemed right. "So what's Forrester doing with this woman?"

"Oh, he was a friend of the husband's in Vietnam, sir." Wylie supplied eagerly.

"Really--" Fox said, his suspicions stronger than ever.

"I guess so. Didn't he get his Pulitzer photographing refugees in Cambodia?"

"Wylie, use your head-- what you have of one, anyway," Fox said. "Forrester was in Vietnam. The alien wasn't."

"Your point being, sir?" Wylie said, charitably letting pass the boss' dig at him.

Wylie couldn't help being dense, Fox told himself before answering, "I think we've just found the alien, its offspring and the offspring's mother. Book us on the first flight to Pennsylvania and tell Casey. We're going in."

"But Mr. Fox, suppose it isn't Jennifer and Scott Hayden? It would be awfully impolite just to barge in. They might not even know he's an alien."

Fox sighed heavily, humoring the younger agent. "Okay, Wylie, tell me what the alien would want with some friends of the real Forrester."

"I don't know, but it could be a social visit, sir."

Fox rolled his eyes, looked toward the ceiling and prayed for strength to survive his two deputies.

o o O o o

"Thanks, Mr. Gendron."

"You're welcome, Manny," Mr. Gendron replied, walking a student to the classroom door. "See you tomorrow."

He stood in the hallway surveying the after-school commotion. The crowd was beginning to thin out now. "Hi, Mijung," he greeted another student as she passed.

Suddenly, two boys came barreling down a ramp on skateboards, one after another. "Mr. Rosenberg and Mr. Marchione--" the teacher called out authoritatively. "Since when is it acceptable to do that in the hallway? One of these days you're either going to hit somebody or break your necks!"

The boys looked sheepish. "Aw, Mr. Gendron--"

"Anthony--" he called one of them over. Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he said, "Take it outside if you must and I'll deny I ever saw you."

"Gotcha, Mr. G.," Anthony grinned, knowing the teacher had just spared them a week's detention.

Mr. Gendron closed his door, walked to the main office and was standing by the faculty mailboxes when a man in a dark suit entered. "Ben Wylie, Federal Security Agency," he identified himself. "I'm looking for information on a boy enrolled here."

The secretary inspected the document Wylie proffered. "I see. What's his name?"

"Shane Colby."

Mr. Gendron had to force himself not to turn around. As soon as he could without being obvious, he took his mail and slipped out. He pushed open one of the exit doors and cut across the blacktop to the gym, where he had a feeling Nate and Shane might be.

Nate looked up in surprise when he heard the door open. "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, guys," Mr. Gendron said.

"What's up?" When Mr. Gendron didn't answer immediately, Nate added uncertainly, "Is something wrong?" Though they saw each other in the halls and Nate occasionally ducked in between classes for a signature or forgotten lunch money, his father pretty much left him alone during the day.

"No, no," Mr. Gendron said quickly, hiding his concern as best he could. "Mind if I watch for a while?"

Nate shrugged. "Sure."

"Want to play, Mr. Gendron?" Scott asked.

"No, thanks, Shane. You boys go ahead."

The boys took off down the court with Scott dribbling furiously. "Gonna get you, Shane!" Nate taunted.

"Just try," Scott challenged.

Mr. Gendron gently pulled the door closed so their banter wouldn't carry. He gazed watchfully out the window, wondering who Ben Wylie was and what he wanted with Shane. Behind him, Nate grabbed the ball and shot. He heard the boys' shouts but didn't see the basket.

o o O o o

"Mr. Fox, he's a minor," Wylie said. "According to Section 366.52c, you're not supposed to question him without a parent or guardian present."

"All right, let the mother stay then," Fox said, striding into the Harrells' living room where Andy and his mother were waiting. The teenager was slouched in his seat, annoyed at being interrupted from his video game just when he was getting to the next level.

"Hello, Andy," Fox said. "My name is Mr. Fox and this is my assistant Mr. Wylie. We work for the government. I'm not a policeman and you're not in trouble. I just want to ask you some questions."

"Questions about what?" Andy asked.

"About Scott Hayden," Fox said.

"I don't know any Scott Hayden," Andy retorted sourly.

"I mean your friend Shane," Fox amended. He withdrew three photographs from his file and laid them out on the coffee table. "Now-- Do you recognize any of these people?"

Andy stared at the middle picture in shock. Suddenly, little things started to fall into place: Shane not wanting his picture taken, not being able to come to the party, startling at the car alarm. He didn't know why though and was afraid to say anything that might hurt Shane. He chose what he thought was a safe response, hoping if he gave them something, they'd leave him alone. "Yeah, the guy on the left is Mr. Forrester, the photographer, except he has a beard now. He's nice. He helped me fix my bike. Did he do something wrong?"

Fox gave him a patronizing laugh. "That's classified information, son. How about the other two people?"

Andy looked at his mother for help.

"Do you have anything to add, Mrs. Harrell?" Fox inquired.

"Well," she considered, studying the photos with deliberate leisure, "The boy maybe looks a little like Shane, I guess, but the woman-- definitely not. This one's way too young and her hair and eyes are much lighter." While the shots of Paul and Scott were fairly recent, Fox was still carrying a picture of Jenny from the early days of 617-W.

"How well do you know Shane Colby and his mother?" Fox asked.

"I guess as well as most of our children's friends," she replied. "Shane has a few classes with Andy and he's spent time here or Andy's been to his place occasionally. We had him and his mother over for dinner once. Sometimes I see her in the stores or whatever and we'll chat a few minutes-- small talk, you know. Very nice, normal people. Shane's a quiet boy, not wild at all, and Margaret-- I think that's her name-- seems like a very devoted mother."

"Did she ever say anything to you about her-- uh-- husband, the boy's father?"

"Not really. Apparently his work takes him away and he isn't home much."

"Did you notice if she was--" Fox paused, wondering how to phrase it delicately, "rather friendly with Paul Forrester?"

"To be honest with you, Mr. Fox, we're not the type to pay attention to other people's personal lives," Mrs. Harrell told him. "I've only met him in passing once or twice, but from what I've heard, Mr. Forrester's very polite and helpful to everyone. The young people like him a lot. He takes interest in them."

"Yeah," Andy agreed. "A lot of adults think kids don't know anything. Mr. Forrester isn't like that. He talks to us like real people."

"I see," Fox said, gathering up the pictures and taking a card out of his inside breast pocket. "Thank you both. If you think of anything else, I can be reached at this number."

"Fine," Mrs. Harrell said, taking the card.

"Thank you for the crumb cake, ma'am," Wylie added.

"Wylie!" Fox warned. "We'll show ourselves out."

o o O o o

"So what do we do now, Mr. Fox?" Casey asked in the car as the three agents drove back to their motel. "We've interviewed half a dozen people already and nobody's given us anything that proves the woman and the boy aren't who they say they are."

"That's quite all right, Casey. I have all the evidence I need," Fox informed him. "Just moments ago while you two were getting coffee, I heard back from Military Records. They did a complete search dating all the way back to Vietnam. There's no trace of a David Colby with a wife or son by those names on active or reserve duty in any of the branches of service. Paul Forrester and Jennifer and Scott Hayden are lying through their teeth."

o o O o o

"Do you like it?" Jenny asked, seeing Paul's contented look as classical music played on the radio.

"Yes," he said, with the same shy smile that had endeared him to her almost eighteen years before.

"It's called 'The Four Seasons,'" she said. "This part is 'Spring.'"

"Ah," Paul said. He liked the title. "'Spring.' It's beautiful." He added nostalgically, "I remember you taught me about music once. I don't understand some of those songs Scott and his friends listen to though."

Jenny laughed. "Don't worry; you're not alone."

"You also taught me other important things-- about food, bozos--"

"Bozos?" Now it was Jenny's turn to be confused.

"Yes. In the parking lot after they hit me, you said, 'I thought I told you to stay away from those bozos.'"

"Have you?" Jenny asked.

"I'm not sure. Is Fox a bozo?"

Jenny snorted. "Fox is beyond a bozo. He's in a class by himself."

"Once on TV I saw a man dressed up in clothes that didn't match. He had a big, red nose and big feet," Paul told her. "Scott said his name was also Bozo. What does he have to do with the men in the parking lot?"

Before she could think of an answer, he was on to something else. "There were people leading animals around and making them do tricks too. Why is that?"

"People think it's fun to watch them up close, I guess," Jenny ventured. "It's called a circus. They take their kids."

"Did you take Scott when he was a little boy?" Paul asked.

She had a feeling it was a loaded question. "Um, it was a long time ago. I don't remember." She swatted him in mock-annoyance. "Enough questions, you. You remind me of our son when he was three. Did I put enough oregano in this?" She held up a spoonful of tomato sauce for him to taste.

"Um, Jenny?" he hesitated. "What's oregano?"

She didn't respond because the phone rang. She crossed the kitchen to answer it. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Colby, this is Andy. Could I speak to Shane please?"

"Hi, Andy," Jenny greeted him. "He's at the movies with Josh but he should be back soon. Can I give him a message?"

"Um-- no," Andy said tentatively. He was so scared that he wanted to cry.

Jenny picked up on it. "Is everything all right, Andy?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Colby," he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Two guys were here asking me and my mom questions--"

"What guys?" Jenny asked, though she already knew.

"I forget their names. One did most of the talking. They had pictures of you and Shane and Mr. Forrester. What's going on? I was so afraid to say the wrong thing--"

"I'm sure you did fine, Andy," Jenny said reassuringly. "It'll be okay. Thank you for being such a good friend to Shane. I'll tell him you called."

"Thanks, Mrs. Colby," Andy sniffled. "Bye."

"Bye, Andy," She hung up and said grimly, "The FSA's back. They just scared Andy out of his wits."

Paul's face crumpled with pain for his son's friend. How many people had to get hurt for befriending them? Andy was just a boy and to him Scott was just Shane Colby. But he merely asked quietly, "When's Scott coming home?"

o o O o o

"Inside, now!" Paul ordered as Scott opened the door.

"What did I do now?" Scott asked.

"Nothing. Fox was at Andy's house. Go pack your stuff."

"Where's Mom?"

"She needs something at the store. As soon as she gets back, we're leaving."

"I hope she's in her old lady costume or something," Scott commented, heading for his room. Then, "Hey, Dad? Where's my blue shirt?"

"I don't know," Paul replied. "You've gotten careless in real life, Scott. You'd never lose your shirt on the road."

Scott couldn't help laughing, positive that the idiomatic meaning of "lose your shirt" had gone right past his father.

"What?" Paul demanded, mistaking his son's amusement for impertinence.

"Nothing, Dad," Scott said.

Paul didn't believe him but let the matter drop, making a mental note to ask Jenny what was so funny.

Soon Scott had a large carton of accumulated odds and ends connecting them to this life that needed to be discarded. "Dad, I'm going out to get rid of this junk," he called.

He went downstairs and was tossing things into the building's incinerator when he became vaguely aware of footsteps, rustling and a surprised "Hey!" He heard Sparky, the dog next door, growling, but it barely registered. He was too busy figuring out what to do with some of Nate's stuff that he'd borrowed.

Suddenly, there were several loud shots. Quickly he ran to the side of the building and looked around the corner. Sparky was now barking furiously in his yard. A stricken Casey stood over Jenny, who was bleeding profusely on the sidewalk.

"Oh my God," Scott breathed. "MOM!" Heedless of the danger, he rushed at the young agent yelling, "You bastard!"

Somebody grabbed him from behind and dragged him backwards, pushing him to the ground. Scott struggled for several seconds before he realized who it was. Paul held his son tightly, shielding him with his own body as they lay hidden by the side of the building. Fortunately, Casey was too distracted to notice, for they soon heard the familiar cadences that penetrated their deepest nightmares: "Casey, what were you thinking? I told you to wait. Why in God's name did you fire?"

As the commotion escalated, Mrs. Derkowski yelled out her window, "What did you do to Margaret?"

"Madam, kindly make your dog shut up!" Fox responded.

"I will not. Who are you and what did you do to Margaret? Is she all right? You didn't kill her, did you? Margaret! Margaret!"

Father and son waited until they heard the approaching sirens of the ambulance before they slipped away.

o o O o o

"Excuse me," Scott said, out of breath and a bit too loudly at the emergency room desk. "I'm looking for Margaret Colby. She came through here a little while ago--"

"And you are?" the clerk inquired efficiently.

"Her son," Scott said.

The clerk punched a few keys on the computer terminal. "She was taken to surgery. How old are you?"

Scott wasn't sure what that had to do with anything. "Eighteen," he lied.

"Okay, go up to the surgical waiting room. Fourth floor. They'll help you there."

"Thanks," Scott said. "Come on," he said to his father.

"I'm sorry, sir, are you an immediate family member?" the clerk addressed Paul.

"No," Paul said.

"Then you're going to have to wait down here."

Scott quickly pulled Paul aside. "Why did you say that?" he hissed.

"She's supposed to be married to David," Paul said innocently. "I couldn't lie." He looked meaningfully at his son.

Scott sighed. Sometimes his father's otherworldly logic was beyond him. What did it matter now about Margaret, David and Shane? The Starman had been lying for the last three weeks saying he wasn't Scott's dad. He'd been lying for the last three years saying he was Paul Forrester. Now he had to be brutally honest?

"Never mind," Paul told him. "You see what you can find out and I'll work on things." There had to be a way to sneak in the way he had at Lindero.

o o O o o

"JENNIFER HAYDEN!" Fox enunciated at the top of his lungs. "I'm telling you, Margaret Colby is Jennifer Hayden."

"We have no record of that, sir," the nursing supervisor told him.

"Of course you don't," Fox snapped. "That's what an alias is." He leaned across the counter so nobody else would hear. "Listen to me; just look it up. The woman has four slugs in her from a federal issue .45 put there by one of my men, the imbecile! Do you think I'd admit to it if it weren't true? I'll be doing paperwork and damage control for the next two years!"

"Medical records are legally privileged information. I'm afraid I can't help you."

"I have a court order!" Fox bellowed, slapping it down with a resounding slam.

"Yes," the supervisor acknowledged. "For Jennifer Hayden."

Damn Wylie for getting the name wrong! Fox thought, Damn Casey for shooting her in the first place! What had he done to deserve them? He walked toward a bank of pay phones to call Washington, purposely ignoring Wylie, who was banging on the vending machine trying to dislodge the stuck candy bar for which he'd just paid.

o o O o o

"Scott--" Paul beckoned in a whisper as the boy paced the empty waiting room.

Scott looked up to see his father dressed in scrubs and a surgical mask "How'd you get up here?"

"I made myself disappear," Paul replied.

"Yeah, right," Scott retorted. By now he knew Algeibans couldn't do that.

Paul looked crestfallen. "You didn't even let me wiggle my eyebrows."

"Dad, I don't feel like joking right now, okay?"

Paul squeezed his son's shoulder reassuringly. "I hid in a laundry cart. There's a freight elevator over by the water fountain. I don't think anybody goes in there much. They need a key," he enunciated conspiratorily, still trying to lighten the situation.

"Oh," Scott said distantly.

Paul gave up. "How's Jenny?"

"I don't know, but the people at the desk said she'll be out of surgery soon." Scott reported. "You'd better be careful. Fox was here about fifteen minutes ago having it out with Wylie in the men's room."

"Did they see you?" Paul asked.

"Nope. I backed out of there real fast."

"Good. Did anyone say where they're taking Jenny after the operation?"

"Seventh floor," Scott told him.

"Okay. I'll meet you up there in a little while."

o o O o o

"Stay here," Paul said. "I'll be right back."

Scott nodded, crouched silently in the stairwell. As they were coming up, they'd heard some sort of commotion, but all seemed quiet now.

Paul opened the door to the landing and crept into Jenny's room. She was just out of the anesthesia. When he lifted the sheet, he saw tubes and bandages covering much of her midsection and an intravenous line in one hand. He touched her face, caressing it slowly. Her skin was hot, but she seemed to be resting fairly comfortably. He stood watching her for a minute more before he leaned over and put his lips against her cheek in a kiss.

He went back to the stairwell and made sure he and Scott were alone before he closed the door. "Jenny's very weak, but it's not life-threatening."

"That's good," Scott said in relief. "So you did your stuff. Let's all get out of here."

"It's not that simple, Scott," Paul said gently.

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"The bullets tore her up inside." Paul explained. "The surgeons stopped the bleeding and stitched up what they could, but there's massive scar tissue and an infection trying to start. It would take me all night and then some to fix it with the sphere. In time, the medicines your mother's being given will do their work, her wounds will heal and she'll recover but--"

It finally hit Scott what his father was saying. "No, Dad!" he said firmly.

"I don't think we have a choice anymore, Scott," Paul told him. "Fox and Wylie are right down the hall. We can't stay and Jenny can't travel in her condition."

"So you want to leave her defenseless with the people who almost killed her?" Scott was indignant.

"It was an accident," Paul said. "Casey's just a young man in over his head. He has a lot to learn, but in time he may-- like you. Sometimes your mistakes have also hurt others or put us in danger--like when you first started using the sphere-- but your mother and I've forgiven you and tried to show you the right way. It's the same with Casey. I don't think people and life have been very forgiving to him, so we should try to be."

Scott snorted. "Why, so he can learn to be like Fox?"

"Perhaps," Paul acknowledged. "Or not like him. Fox doesn't care about Jenny as much as he does us. If she doesn't know where we are, he'll leave her alone for a while." He added, "She'd want us to go."

"Did she tell you that?" Scott asked.

"She doesn't have to," Paul said. "I think I understand her migraines now."

Scott didn't say anything. Migraines were the least of Jenny's problems now.

"They were warning her of danger," Paul went on.

"How? She's not like us."

"No, but she's your mother. She feels things about you. I think people down here call it intuition?"

Scott nodded numbly.

"Because you're beginning to develop your Algeiban powers, she also knows other things from you and, in turn, from me. She doesn't know she knows and can't necessarily act on them in the same way we do, but the bond is there. It always has been. We're just more aware of it now. Remember how Lainie said Mom knows how to tell when the government is following her? She'll understand in her own way."

Paul stopped as he saw tears come to his son's eyes. "Oh, Scott, it upsets me to see you so unhappy."

"Don't they cry where you come from?" Scott asked defensively.

Paul put an arm around him. "What did I say the last time you asked that question?"

"When?"

"When Stella was dying," Paul prompted. "Come on-- tell me."

Scott had to think a minute before he remembered. "She'll always be a part of me."

"That's right," Paul said. "We've found your mother before; we'll find her again. Or in this case, she found us. Did you ever think of that?"

"You're right, as usual." Scott conceded finally. "Can I go say goodbye now?"

"She's sleeping, Scott," Paul told him quietly. "We really shouldn't wake her."

"I don't want to just disappear on her," Scott said. "Can't you do something?"

"We'll see," Paul promised. "Right now we need to make a phone call."

o o O o o

"Sir, you can't go in there," the young nurse protested, "Visiting hours are over."

"My assistant and I have been waiting patiently for several hours to question our witness," Fox said crisply, emboldened now that the uncooperative supervisor's shift was over. "I understand she's alert now and I intend to speak to her."

"Good evening, Mrs. Hayden," he said pleasantly from Jenny's door.

Jenny didn't answer. She fleetingly considered denying that she was Mrs. Hayden, but there was no point. Better to get it over with.

"You realize you're in serious trouble--" Fox began.

"Is it a crime to want to raise my own child and to be with his father?" she asked.

"Your child and his father have been wanted for the last seventeen years as national security risks!" Fox exploded. "You poor deluded woman; they're aliens!" To him, that alone made everything self-evident.

Oh, get a life, George, Jenny thought. "How do you know I'm not?"

Fox pressed one hand against his temple in exasperation. Whether she was or not, she'd certainly learned to talk in riddles like "it." Trying to have a conversation with either one of them was maddening.

Jenny felt a sharp twinge in her side and remembered the last time he'd tried to interrogate her from a hospital bed after a long and difficult labor. She'd had complications so they hadn't been able to bring the baby to her immediately and she was anxious-- her first taste of the separations that were to come. Her father, beside himself with pride at his first grandson, had just been to the nursery to inspect Scott Jr. and was reassuring her how handsome and strong her boy was when Fox showed up. The elder Mr. Geffner hadn't known what to make of his daughter's ramblings about a Starman, which he assumed had something to do with Flower Power. He was of the old school and didn't understand such things, yet he unfailingly gave up his seat to "ladies," especially older ones and those "with child." Jenny had been both mortified and amused when he caused a scene by chasing Fox off the maternity floor yelling, "Get the hell out! Didn't anybody ever teach you how to treat a lady?" And Phyllis thought Wayne was bad! For a long time, even after Jenny's father had passed on and Wayne was half a world away fighting real enemies in Vietnam, every time she and Fox met, she saw him looking to make sure no Geffner men were around.

Just then, an orderly entered the room pushing a wheelchair. He consulted his clipboard. "You Margaret?" he asked Jenny.

"No," Fox answered for her.

"Yes," Jenny cut in.

The orderly addressed Fox. "Well, if she's Margaret, she's supposed to go to X-ray."

Fox glared at them both and turned on his heel in a huff. "I will be back."

The orderly glanced back as Fox went down the hall then whispered. "Do you think you can get up?"

At that moment, Jenny recognized the voice. It was Russ. She nodded. He lowered the side rail of the bed and helped her into the chair, IV pole and all.

He pushed her quickly in the opposite direction from the nurses' station and into the freight elevator. Two floors down, the doors opened across from an empty lounge where she saw Paul and Scott waiting anxiously. Russ glanced at Paul, who nodded in thanks. Then Russ retreated.

Paul came forward and addressed her soberly. "A long time ago, you taught me how to love, how to say goodbye--"

"And you gave me a son," Jenny said softly.

Paul nodded. "That love and that son are the most priceless joys of my life on this earth, but it's ironic and sad how often we've had to use that second lesson."

Remembering their words from long ago: "Tell me again how to say goodbye." "Kiss me and tell me that you love me," he bent and kissed her. "I love you, Jenny-hayden,"

"I love you too, Paul."

"Take care of yourself."

"I'll be good as new soon," she assured him. "Don't worry; I'll manage."

"I wouldn't leave you if I didn't know that," he said. He touched her shoulder. "You and Scott talk now." When she next looked up, he was gone.

Scott was biting his lower lip and she saw that his eyes were wet. "It's not fair, Mom," he said brokenly. "I don't want to choose between you and Dad."

"You're not," she said, but there was a lump in her own throat choking her words. She composed herself and continued, "You belong with your dad. There are things you need in order to grow that only he can teach you. I can't."

She paused. "These nine weeks have been very special, Scott, arguing and all. Paul and Wayne were right. You've grown into a fine young man. I'm very proud and I'll always cherish this time we had together."

She had a sudden thought and pulled off her wedding band. "Here. This is from me and your Earth father. Keep it for when your Star father can give it back to me."

Scott stared at the ring and finally took it from her. "Mom, do you think there's any way to write real letters?"

"I'm not sure, but now that I know we have friends, I'll be able to know that you're all right." Then, "Go. Your father's waiting."

Scott hugged her, afraid of dislodging something yet reluctant to let go. "Bye Mom."

"Catch ya later," Jenny said softly.

The last thing she heard was the sound of her son's sneakers squeaking on the linoleum as he walked quickly away.

o o O o o

"Paul, do you still know how to use a camera?" Russ asked as they cruised down a back road toward nowhere in particular.

"I think so," Paul said.

"Good. Liz says she can set you up in North Carolina or New Hampshire; take your pick. Or if you want to be a renegade like Paul Forrester, I can just drop you two off on any stretch of highway you please."

"New Hampshire sounds good," Paul decided.

"We've been to North Carolina before," Scott explained. "Russ, can you mail something for me?"

"Sure can," Russ said amiably.

"What's that?" Paul asked his son.

"My homework," Scott replied.

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you so studious?"

"The essay I gave Mr. Gendron is Shane's," Scott explained. "This one's mine."

"I see," Paul said. "What did you write about?"

"You and Mom."

Now both eyebrows went up.

"You're not mad, are you?" Scott retreated quickly. "I really want to do this."

"No, it's okay," Paul assured him. "He won't tell." He paused. "Can I read it first?"

"I guess so," Scott said with an embarrassed laugh.

"I bet it's good," Paul said. "Did you show Jenny?"

"Not yet," Scott said. When his father looked puzzled, he added, "I'm saving it for her. She says this will be over someday."

"I think she's right," Paul agreed thoughtfully. "Then you can have your name in magazines like Mr. Gendron says and tell people down here all about us."

"Maybe," Scott said non-committally. "Like a reporter or something?"

"Why not?" Paul inquired. "I've always hoped you'd be a teacher of our people, and writing seems like a good way to do it."

"Yeah, but Dad, some of those news people are such sleaze."

"Not all of them," Paul said. "You won't be sleazy."

They continued talking, almost oblivious to the irony of the man at the wheel and the person who'd sent him. It was as if he weren't even there, for they knew once he got them on their way, he'd slip into the shadows again until the next time they had to call.

THE END - Click here for the prequel to this story.

Copyright 1998 by Nina M. Pan. All rights reserved.

 

This story is a work of fiction based on characters and situations created in the 1984 feature film and 1986-87 television series, STARMAN. It is an amateur publication circulated without profit for the enjoyment of fellow fans. No infringement of existing copyrights is intended.

 

I gratefully acknowledge the contributions of the creative teams that brought STARMAN to life and of the many fellow fans who have sustained it and have continued to share their passion. Special thanks to Todd, Chuck S. and Vicki for their thoughtful comments and encouragement.

This story was originally published as a stand-alone zine and it received a 1999 Fan Q nomination in that category. Some minor corrections have been made for this republication, but the substance of the story remains untouched.


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